


Artemis

by ussgallifrey221b



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 80's Music, Angst, Asshole Politicians, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Demisexuality, Disney References, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, HYDRA Government, IN SPACE!, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, Mythology References, Playlist, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reckless Behavior, References to Depression, Sass, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Superhero!Reader, Tony Stark Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 02:39:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19164136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussgallifrey221b/pseuds/ussgallifrey221b
Summary: While on a recon mission, the Avengers come across a new and mysterious superhero. Surprising them by appearing in the middle of a gunfight and vanishing in a flash of brilliant white light soon after, the group searches for the woman only known to the locals as The Mirage.





	1. Part 001 | What exactly am I looking at here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **《ANTHEM》**

The air is cold and sharp, the chill from the lake bites the skin with a wicked fierceness. The only sound comes from the crunch of fallen leaves beneath heavy boots and padded paws. The world is quiet here. The red and orange trees shake and sway in the wind, as leaves fall gently to the frozen ground. The stillness of the forest is broken by a shrill whistle, followed by loud barks. A clambering of excited noises comes rushing towards her as the pack of dogs comes into view, proudly carrying their hunted find; a beautiful tan hare. They obediently drop it at her feet as she gives them well deserved praise. She grabs the animal by its hind legs and heads back to the house with the seven canines following behind her in perfect single file.

She’d been working with the new arrows today, still working out the kinks on them. The rabbit had been an easy kill, but she was curious how they would fare against a buck or a black bear - not that she was in the business of hunting protected bears. Nor were there any actually on the island, but only she knew that. She'd have to lay some fresh tracks tomorrow, there was word of a scout group coming within the week.

Following the familiar trail, worn down by feet and paws over the years, the forest gave way to the clearing where the cabin lay. The boys scattered, some going to the fire pit and some heading towards the porch. She took the kill around back to the kitchen door. Entering the old shed to clean it up. It was laid down on the stained table while she retrieved her kit, wanting to gut it before the animal started to sour.

The first incision by the neck allowed the soft fur to come away clean. She placed it in the nearby basket for later cleaning. With a snap, she pulled the feet away. And with a chop, the head was removed. Flipping the carcass onto it’s back, she made a small cut at the top and pulled upwards to avoid nicking the organs under the skin, cutting carefully downwards in a straight line. Pulling them out and letting them fall into the bucket at her feet. She grabbed for the liver, checking for white spots to ensure a healthy kill. Finding none, she finished portioning the meat out. It would be a big meal for one person. As usual.

Grabbing her freshly prepared rabbit, she headed back to the house. Letting the bite of the wind kiss her cheeks as she stared up at the smoke billowing out from the chimney. Watching as it rose upwards before hitting the shield, making it give off soft blue sparks, and curling back where it followed the curve of the engineered dome.

After getting the meat cooking in the cast iron skillet on the old wood stove, she made her way back out to the small garden. Carefully checking over the last few pumpkins - it would last her another month, maybe to Thanksgiving if she was lucky. Grabbing a few brussel sprouts and sweet potatoes for the dinner. The boys were all contentedly lounging in the yard, patiently waiting for night to fall.

Sitting in the worn wooden rocker, with her boots on the porch railing, she tucked into her meal. Enjoying the company of Ryder, who lay under her legs. His black fur contrasting with the faded wood planks of the porch. Her eyes moved from the serenity of the yard towards the calmness of the sky, with its streaks of blue and yellow and pink. Her gaze was distant and calculated, mind anywhere but here on the porch. The stars were starting to appear, bright and brilliant dots scattering across the dark blue vastness.

With a quiet clink, her plate was placed in front of the lead’s head, letting him lick it clean. She ruffled his ears with a gentle smile.

In her bedroom, at last, she shed off her clothes, more than ready for the steady night to fall. The phone’s speakers playing the synth beats of her father’s old playlist. A feeling of serene tranquility falling over her as she sways to the song.

The black leggings were warm and comfortable. She carefully tucked the small silver necklace under her purple shirt, before pulling over the fitted black tunic. Moving over to her full-length mirror to sweep her hair back and away from her face. The familiar feel of the dark cloth mask over her face brings a small smile to her lips, feeling her heart rate begin to race with adrenaline. She draws her cowl up and over her head, allowing only her eyes to peer out from her covered form.

She strides towards the window, lifting it with a creak. She whistles out to the pack: a warning - _be good._ With a satisfied smile, she grabs the bow and quiver from her bed and the night vision goggles from her nightstand. And then she vanishes.

 

* * *

 

It’d been a week since they arrived in the small town, holed up in a cheap motel off the freeway, while Stark’s group was likely kicking it in some five-star resort downstate. Not that he would feel comfortable in that kind of environment anyway. After a few moments of pacing and lip biting, Bucky knocks at the connecting door. He hears the rustling of sheets before Wanda greets him with a tight smile.

“Anything?”

She shakes her head with a downturned look. His hands rest on his hips as he gives a knowing nod. It had been a week of recon and a week of on the ground work and no one had made any real progress yet. Wanda had been trained on the tourist area all day while he'd been scouting around the interstate. As usual, Sam had been their eye in the sky.

Wanda’s staring at him. His eyes widen in realization that he should probably be talking. “Sam’s getting pizza if you want?” He stumbles awkwardly.

She nods, giving him a small smile, “That would be nice, thank you, Sergeant.”

They were all still figuring this whole thing out, after the Decimation. They were all gone, for five years, but it certainly didn’t feel like that; more like closing your eyes. Of course, the elephant in the room was Steve. _Wasn’t it always?_ Bucky had mused. The punk had gone back to place the stones and decided to stay there permanently. Bucky wasn’t stupid, he knew what the plan was. But it didn’t make it sting any less. They had just gotten a chance at something normal again. There were plans of getting him pardoned by the US government, coming back to the States, and starting over. With his best friend there to help him adjust to everything. But that’s all Steve wanted - a return to a normal life away from all the world saving. And he couldn’t really fault him for that. But did the guy really leave him alone in the 21st century with only Sam Wilson?

Hell, he didn't even have Nat anymore. She was… she was permanently gone. He hadn't actually told anyone about his long friendship with her, it just brought up too many memories of the Red Room and HYDRA. But she had been a constant in his life for so many years when he was there. Filling a void left by Steve, not that he could really remember him or his previous life at the time. He missed her. God, he missed her.

It had been six months since then. He went to trial, was acquitted, spent some time getting a full psych evaluation from S.H.I.E.L.D., and got the pleasure of trying to make amends with Tony. All without anyone to really lean on. But he did it. And now he was here with Sam and Wanda in a cheap motel doing stakeout on an illegal arms operation. Or they were suppose to - nothing out of the ordinary had actually appeared on their radar yet.

The motel door unlocks as Sam walks through with a stack of pizza boxes in one hand, seemingly talking to himself.

“No, we haven’t seen shit. Yeah, I - “ he places the food down with a huff on the small table by the window, looking increasingly agitated. He looks at the ceiling, counting his breaths. His foot taps impatiently on the stained green carpet. “Well, if you want to come take a look for yourselves - “ He bites his lip, clearly being cut off again.

Bucky can feel the beginnings of a laugh creeping up by his lips for the first time in two weeks.

“No, I understand that. I’m just saying - “

Wanda hides her smile into her shoulder as Bucky lets out a low whistle.

Having enough, Sam rips the comm out of his ear and throws it on the bed. “Stark can kiss my red, white, and blue ass. Fucking, sitting on some velvet lounge while we - “ he gives a frustrated groan as he drags his hands over his stubbled cheeks. He throws his hands up, defeated. “I’m done. They’ve got nothing. We’re waiting on something that isn’t here, man.” He looks to Bucky with a desperate expression.

Bucky, while actually agreeing with him, enjoys watching the episode of pure agony play out on Sam. He plops down on the edge of the bed. “Should probably do another scout of the docks,” he adds with a purposeful drawl, “ _Cap._ ”

Sam points a tough finger at him, “Better watch yourself, tin-man. My patience is in the negative right now.”

“It could not hurt, no?” Wanda saunters past them, lured by the aroma of the pizza.

Sam groans.

Bucky chides, “Two against one, man.”

 

* * *

 

The night breeze is crisp and cool. It’s unsettlingly familiar. Bucky watches his breath mingle in the air gently with each exhale. He’s perched on the rooftop of a small business, looking directly at the docks through his scope. He can hear the waves from the lake tumble over the rocks with a gentle lapping sound.

 _"This is not a lake,"_ Wanda had said on their first night out.

Sam had been flying over the Straits, following the freighters. _"Mhmm. I've seen lakes. I've been in lakes. This is not a lake. I can't even see the other side of the damn bridge."_

He’s flying high above the water tonight, keeping a purposeful distance. This was their sixth night doing this. Waiting for a shipment to come through and get loaded up for distribution.

His bones ache with the cold lap of wind rushing over him. Laying there with a trained eye on the dock, it all felt familiar. Distant memories always coming up through the fog of his mind. He remembers a winter scene, Steve was there, they were taking down a HYDRA base. He'd have to write that down later.

Wanda’s voice is suddenly in his ear, he shakes his head to focus, “Boys, we have trucks on the move. Northbound.”

Bucky drags his gaze away, focusing on the distant road where bright headlights move closer.

He hears Sam give a sigh of relief, “Fucking finally.”

Bucky watches the vans drive down the road, white and nondescript. He hears the soft footfalls of Wanda draw near, having flown from her position at the far end of the perimeter. She crouches down next to him.

“Eyes on the prize,” she murmurs as the vans clear the guarded gate.

Hovering just above the streetlights, he sees Sam’s drone. The drivers are out now. He can see the obvious lines of holsters hidden beneath their coats. “Two are armed,” he says into the comm. “Sidearms at least.”

“Noted,” Sam huffs.

As the group moves out of sight, Sam’s drone follows. “They’re out of range, lost contact.”

“Wanda?”

She stands, “On it.” The red light surrounds her fists as she flies up into the air. Bucky watches her fly overhead, where she lands on top of the security building. “Two pallets. Signing now, starting to load.”

Bucky watches his breath in the chill air, swirling up into the dark sky.

“Barnes, cover us. I’ve got a feeling it’s not just two down there. Wanda, on my mark.”

As the first van is being loaded, Bucky watches Sam come shooting down out of the clouds, his legs extended. With a swift kick, he slams his feet into the open door, crushing the driver’s hand with an excruciating scream. Wanda’s fists glow red as she warps the gun to painfully wrap around the other driver’s wrists. He hears bones snapping when she throws her energy at his knees. He falls to the ground with an audible groan.

The ‘ping’ of a bullet ricocheting off Sam’s vibranium shield makes Bucky move his position to the left, eyes trained on the driver. With a quick focus, the shot rings through the air and lands perfectly in the man’s left shoulder. He drops to the ground. Sam lowers the shield and stares up across the street at Bucky with an irritated gesture, “The hell? I had him!”

Bucky huffs an amused, “Felt left out.”

Sam points up at him, “Wait in line, tin-man.”

The roar of an engine pulls their attention to the gate as the vehicle crashes through it. Wanda strides over to Sam with a pointed look, “If you two are done?”

Seven men fly out of the rear of the truck, carrying rifles, pulled up in a firing stance. With a running jump, Sam sends the shield down upon the closest two guards, knocking them to the side. Bullets rain out as Wanda surges her power at another guard, his gun twisting into a mangled mess. Bucky aims at the last man to leave the truck, sending a bullet right to his calf. The guard stumbles, aiming his gun erratically towards the building Bucky’s on.

Bucky watches a ray of white light shoot across his line of vision, landing in the man’s chest. He collapses to the ground. “What the hell?”

Two more streak past, hitting the next guard in the back. Bucky turns his head to the left, seeking out the light source. Two buildings over, he watches the bright light fly across the street once more, emerging from pure darkness.

“Sam?” He calls out.

“Little. Busy!” He hears the clang of the shield as it bounces off the van and the groan of a man being punched by a strong right hook.

“We have a situation.”

“I’ll say!”

He fights the urge to roll his eyes. The pained scream of the final guard fills the air.

Wanda looks to Bucky, now standing with his rifle by his side, as her power drains from her hands, she follows his gaze. “Sam.”

Sam bounces the shield off the ground and catches it, throwing his hand through the harness. He steps forward and looks up. They watch the sudden burst of white light explode from the rooftop, pulling in on itself, then snapping out of existence.

 

* * *

 

 _“Okay, what exactly am I looking at here?”_ Tony’s voice reverberates in the small motel room. The blue holographic image picked up by Redwing hovers above the table.

“Hoping you might know.” Sam leans back in the chair, feet on the radiator.

_"It looks like a journalist failed to turn off their flash."_

Sam surges forward, "Nah. That wasn't a camera flash, Tony. That was… it like - " he gestures helplessly, words escaping him. He looks at Bucky. "Barnes, you were closest to it."

Bucky pushes off from the wall he had been leaning on, "It… it was an energy source of light. It was too dark to see what was creating it."

 _"Uh-huh,"_  Tony clicks. _"Anyone have some_ **_useful_ ** _information?"_

"Arrows!" Wanda chimes in from the bed. "It was creating arrows."

 _"Hey, Barton, any special new powers you want to share with the class?"_ Tony's voice muffles as he apparently looks behind him.

Clint's voice comes in, _"Do you_ **_have_ ** _the arrows?"_

Sam shakes his head, "Gone. Vanished. Left some nice marks though."

_"Huh."_

When they were cleaning up the area, waiting for the authorities to come and collect the smugglers, they had searched for those mysterious arrows. But there was nothing left. They had looked paper thin and were as bright as a full moon. Any sign of them had vanished the moment they pierced the skin of their targets.

_"CCTV footage anyone? FRIDAY?"_

A series of camera angles emerge in the holographic dome, rapidly playing. Bucky can see the one from the security building, but it's only captured the arrows shooting across the street; not the source. He leans forward, hand on the table.

 _"Boss?"_ The videos clear, revealing a single clip in the middle of the table, from the traffic cam at the far end of the street. Bucky can make out the shadow of a figure running up, then disappearing in a flash of white light. Another video flips down, showing a flash of light on the rooftop. The figure is still too dark to see, but then the arrows come.

 _"Great, we have another Legolas."_ Bucky can imagine Stark rubbing his temples with feigned irritation. _"Energy signatures?"_

FRIDAY brings up a large graph and a map of the area, pinpoints scattered across it. _"Lunar in nature."_

"Lunar? Someone's got moon powers?" Sam asks in confused astonishment. "And they're doing _archery_ practice?" He raises his brow at Bucky, who just shrugs his shoulders - like _this_ was the weirdest thing he's ever seen?

_"Can we track it?"_

FRIDAY pulls the map forward, letting the points glow. The first point flashes, right by the bridge. A line connects it to another, just a few blocks away. Then to the the streetlight, followed by the building across from the docks.

"Where'd it go?" Bucky questions softly, trying to trace it, looking for patterns.

 _"Searching."_ After a moment, the map zooms out to reveal the surrounding area. Three islands come into view.  A dot appears in the center of the middle island. _"The last signature can be found here, at 1:17 a.m.."_

The map shows the name: Round Island.

 _"Okay, clearly not the most imaginative bunch naming the place,"_ Tony says after a moment. _"We need to track those guys back to the source, but I'm sure a field trip wouldn't hurt. FRIDAY?"_

_"The island is too dense, boss. The quinjet has nowhere to land. The nearest landing strip is on the western island - "_

"That'd draw a lot of unnecessary attention," Sam comments. "That place is a tourist trap."

 _"Okay, I know at least_ **_two_ ** _of you can fly."_

"Sure, we'll just do a two mile fly over. Just some freezing water in high wind, with a few thousand tourists watching."

 _"Do you have a better idea?"_ Tony questions with agitation.

Bucky paces in front of the dresser, tapping his hand against his thigh absentmindedly. Sam looks at the two of them, his hands laced together in front of him.

"Don't they have the ferries?" Wanda asks from her spot on the bed.

FRIDAY interrupts, _"There are no docks on Round Island."_

"Good time to have some teleportation powers," Sam muses with a smile.

 _"FRIDAY, how exactly does one_ **_get_ ** _to the island?"_

_"Kayak, boss."_

Sam barks a laugh while Bucky shakes his head with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions throughout the chapter:**  
>  **1.** The lakes in the story are the Great Lakes that surround Michigan. They are massive, some might compare them to a sea. But they are the largest freshwater bodies of water in the world.  
>  **2.** The bridge in question is the Mackinac Bridge. It is the only way to drive from the lower peninsula into the upper peninsula. And it is TERRIFYING. It's a five-mile-high suspension bridge over the straits of Mackinac (the connecting point of Lake Michigan and Lake Huron). Not for those with a fear of heights. And the wind? God, that wind can move a semi truck back and forth. They'll close the bridge down if the weather is bad enough. Beautiful to look at. Awful to drive across.
> 
>  **Author’s Note:**  Holy shit. Fun fact, I haven’t written anything in about a decade. I attempted three different stories before this one came flowing out of me. I currently have the first three chapters written, so bear with me as I have a pretty hectic schedule to work around. Writing only comes once I have my kids to sleep. Heads up, this story is basically my love letter to my home state of Michigan and Mackinac Island. Feedback would be amazing, as I haven’t had that since my highschool English class days.
> 
> This series is also cross-posted on my [Tumblr](http://ussgallifreyfics.tumblr.com), where you can also find moodboards and an official playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/ophefmg9lipoqsburavvkcp6j/playlist/1CjCG8tDJz4KTWe7Po8ZeZ?si=WkthsEkvQGWW5m_AT2MAsw).


	2. Part 002 | Doctor Smith

“Hey, Miss Maggie. How’ve they been treating you lately?” She smiles at the curly-haired woman on the exam table, whose hand rests on her protruding belly, her eyes tired.

“Awful,” Maggie drags. “Pain right in here.” She points under her ribs.

Closing the door behind her, she makes her way towards the counter. Cleaning her hands with the sanitizer, she rounds the table and helps Maggie lay back down, her hands feeling her stomach carefully, “Only on the upper right quadrant?”

Maggie shakes her head, “Upper right, upper left, all of it.”

She gives a small laugh, “Nothing new then? Probably just have their feet lodged right up in there.”

After measuring her stomach and finding the normal thirty-five centimeter size, she gives a small thank you to the higher beings for not giving the woman any troubling signs of preeclampsia. Followed up by the strong heartbeat on the doppler. Helping Maggie sit back up, she walks over to the computer, “Looks like your urine came back normal - no protein, which is good. Little edema in the feet and ankles it looks like.” She turns with a smile, “Still planning on the C-section on the mainland?”

“Unless you want to do me a favor today,” she says with a tight smile. The cramps clearly weren’t letting up; poor woman.

She shakes her head, “Thirty-five weeks is a little too early for that. I’d argue for bed rest, but I know your boys keep you busy. Keep your feet elevated at the least, lots of water. By now you know the drill.”

Maggie nods. Four boys under eight, she was an old pro at this, but it definitely didn’t make the third trimester any easier for her. With her husband, Ryan, working as a dray driver most of the week, she was stuck up in the small workers' village with the boys. Now that the weather was taking a dip, she was sure they were going to go a little cabin crazy as well. And she thought seven dogs were a handful.

“We’re coming into the final stretch, just a little longer now. I’ll be seeing you back here in a week, right?”

“Unless someone wants to make an early appearance,” she smiles hopefully.

Gathering her clipboard and heading to the door, “They better not! When you’re ready, go ahead and get dressed and head out to reception. I’ll see you next week!”

Sitting at her desk, she goes over the final paperwork. Fingers gliding over the keyboard with purposeful clicks. She's barely had time to process the past twelve hours.

She had been downtown, keeping an eye on the western gas station when the sound of gunfire rang through the air - like a lot of gunfire, something that wouldn't come from just one person breaking and entering. It wasn't typically her forte to deal with that kind of thing, but she had to investigate it. She knew who was on patrol duty at the time - it was the new recruit, AJ, and she didn't want to rely on him to handle something of this magnitude. She had gotten closer and closer to the water, realizing the fight was going down at the docks.

It's not like she had expected the Avengers to be there. And they probably could have handled it themselves since they were the professionals, but she had just gone in without thinking things through like a complete idiot. _Like Jack,_ she had realized numbly.

At least she wasn't front and center when it happened, she had managed to get to a rooftop a few yards away. But they had spotted her. Hopefully, they wouldn't mind her butting in like that. But she had admittedly panicked when the guy on the roof had stood up unexpectedly ‐ because when the hell did he get there? He also would have had a great view of her, maybe they were already looking into it. And she just had to get out of there. So she fled. She really should have followed her father's advice. She had made herself seen to the wrong people and it was gonna bite her in the ass, she was sure of it.

She hears the long stride of Dr. Morgan’s steps before he even rounds the corner. Oh, he looks lost. This should be interesting. He stops at her desk. His salt and pepper hair looks more ruffled than usual.

“Dr. Smith.”

She dips her head in recognition, “Dr. Morgan.” She closes out of her email and swivels in the old office chair to face him, “Problem?”

“Crutches?”

She leans back in the chair, bobbing forward and back, thoughtfully, “Isn’t there a spare set in room seven?”

He shakes his head, “Taken yesterday.”

“And a wheelchair won’t work because…?”

He bristles at the question, “They insist on staying the full week. And their B&B doesn’t have an elevator.”

Tourists. It was always the tourists. She worries at her necklace for a moment before standing to stretch her arms above her head, enjoying the successful crack and pop of her back. “I’ll head down to the store, see if I can’t convince Michael to lend them out. Call over to Bois Blanc for a spare. Then we’ll fill out an order for a few more. We’ll need them once the snowmobilers come across.”

He nods and hurries back to his exam room. She closes out of her account and makes for the stairs, shrugging on her coat as she walks. With her hand on the door, she turns back to her receptionist, “Linda, I’ll be back, heading down to the store!”

“I’ll hold down the fort for you, Diane,” The older woman salutes with a smile. How long had she been using that name? How many people knew her as Diane Smith? If only they really knew.

The harsh wind had finally died down for the afternoon as she unlocks her bike from the rack. The leaves rustle along the paved street. The place is far quieter now that the main chunk of fudgies had retreated for the year. She pushes off, heading down the incline to the street, making her way towards one of the few businesses left open for the year.

 

* * *

 

Sam had been bouncing back and forth for far too long, anxiously moving away from them to stare at the distant island and the ferry moving (slowly) towards the marina. Stark had shelled out for three tickets. His group was stalling the operation in Detroit in favor of coming upstate to follow the breadcrumbs of the smuggling operation. But he wanted Sam’s group to look into the energy signature on the neighboring island in the meantime. Even though it had been apparently helping them out the previous night, it was considered the safer option to investigate it further - just in case.

“Samuel,” Wanda chides behind her black scarf, “You are making me anxious. Stay still.”

He moves back towards them, eyes still on the ferry. His hands were shoved into his coat pockets. “I want to know what we’re dealing with over there.”

“A ferry,” Bucky smiles. He should have tied his hair back, constantly having to move the wind-swept strands from his face with each strong gust. Even his coat is having a hard time keeping the lake's wind from chilling his bones.

Sam stops to glare at him, “You know what I mean.”

“Then ask someone,” Wanda adds roughly, having had her fill of Sam’s nerves for the day.

He looks at her with a stunned expression. His face screws up as his voice drips with sarcasm, “Oh sure, no problem. Hey, have you guys seen any _crime-fighting archers_ that vanish into thin air around here?” He lets his head fall back with a short fake laugh.

“You mean The Mirage?”

The group turns to look at the worker. His gloved hands pause the work of wrapping a rolling cart of luggage.

Bucky steps forward, “I’m sorry?”

“Yeah,” the man sets the roll of plastic wrap down. “Uhm, here, lemme just - “ he pulls his phone out of the neon green safety vest. He taps it with his finger a few times, scrolls through something then holds up a YouTube video for them. They crowd closer to see.

The video is shaky at best, dipping up and down with a nervous hand. It locks in on a figure in black standing in front of three men, all tied to a lamppost. The person behind the camera makes a gasping sound and the camera drops down to their feet. It’s drawn back up, albeit zoomed in far too much. Hearing the sound of the person filming, the figure turns toward the camera. With a flash of brilliant white light, they disappear. He pulls his phone away, “There’s a ton of them on there.”

“Is there, uhm,” Sam scratches the back of his head. “What exactly is that?”

The man tucks his phone away, arms crossed. “Like you said, crime-fighting archer. Showed up a few years back, disappeared with The Vanished, and now she’s back. Doing her thing.”

Wanda looks at him with a concentrated stare, “ _She_?”

He nods, “Yeah, take a look for yourself. She had a partner for a while? But we haven’t seen him for some time. Just her now.”

Bucky pulls his hair back in a frustrated grip with his gloved hand, "Where'd she come from?"

He lowers his head thoughtfully, "Think she's from here." He takes in Sam's wide eyes, "What? Can't have a superhero from Michigan?"

“And… she’s _good_?” Sam tilts his head, taking up a similar stance with his arms crossed.

“Look, I know a lot of people have an issue with superheroes these days, but around here we like her.” He gives them a pointed stare - as if he’s expecting an argument. They look at each other with amused expressions. Apparently, civilian clothes were doing the trick for them today. “She’s stopped a fair share of traffickers trying to get over to the U.P. from here. That’s enough to gain our trust.”

Bucky shuffles his feet, fighting the bitter wind. “What’d you say her name was?”

Sam winces when the ferry’s horn blows as it sails into the marina. The man grabs the plastic roll, moving back towards the cart. “Not sure what she goes by. It’s the news that coined her The Mirage - that’s the one that stuck. She's not exactly out there giving interviews."

Bucky lets the name play in his head. A mirage? It was certainly one way to describe what he had seen.

 

* * *

  

On the way to the island, they sit down below the deck with the four other travelers. Huddled together on the white plastic benches near the bow of the ship, they can see the waves splash as they hit the side of the ferry from the large viewing windows. No one seems to be paying them much attention. The rocking makes Bucky's stomach slosh uncomfortably. Wanda’s leaning over the back of her seat to look at Sam’s phone.

“First mention of these two is in 2013.” He scrolls through the archived article, scanning for info, “ _Armed robbery thwarted_.” He scrolls further down and gives a bark of a laugh, “Man, look at this.” He holds the phone up. There’s a blurry image of two people in full black, wearing ski masks.

“Early days,” Wanda smiles.

“Looks like she’s upgraded since then,” Sam brings up a more recent photo. Clearly, someone was eager with the flash, as the girl is shielding her face. Her dark clothes are finally shown in more clarity, however. Bucky can see the hints of purple mixed with the black. Every inch of her skin is covered, even her eyes are hidden behind a set of black goggles. It reminds him too much of the Soldier’s uniform.

Bucky anxiously drums his fingers against his knee. Sam bumps his shoulder with his own, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. He straightens, attempting to aid in the conversation, “Why that island though?”

“Uninhabited, hard to get to if you can’t zap yourself there.”

He hums in response, not feeling totally assured of the answer. There had to be more to it than that. "But there weren't any more after that one last night?"

Sam pulls back, "I don't think so?" He looks to Wanda for verification, she nods.

"So, what, she's hiding out there or living there?" Bucky taps his foot against the metal legs of Wanda's bench.

Wanda has her phone out now. "Maybe she kayaked away," She suggests. Scrolling through her phone for a moment, she gives a small breathy laugh before shoving it towards them, "Look at this!"

The article is titled: _Kidnappers captured by local heroes, Artemis & Apollo. _There's a blurry photo of two dark figures on the Mackinac Bridge. Sam rolls his eyes at the picture of a graffitied wall further down in the article. In golden spray paint is a half sun connected to a half circle, with a single arrow between them. Sun and moon. Seems the local news couldn't decide on a name for them yet.

"Popular with the locals, unknown to the rest of the world," Sam muses.

Bucky turns his head towards him, "Not a bad life." He leans back against the bench, "Sometimes it's better if everyone doesn't know your name and face."

Sam gives him a pained look of understanding. He nudges him lightly, "Don't worry, man. We'll all forget your ugly face eventually."

 

* * *

 

With plans for the spare crutches to be sent up to the medical center, she browses the shelves of the grocery store. Grabbing another container of salt, a five-pound bag of rice, and a small bag of chocolate covered pretzels. Michael rings her up, talking excitedly about the amazing deal he got on the new shipment coming at the end of the week. She smiles appreciatively and wishes him a good night as she heads outside to her bike.

The bright blue sky is fading into the deeper tones of the night. She shuffles her bag of goods into the rear basket. The ferry's horn blows as it disembarks for the night. Lights outside The Pink Pony are turned on as the street dies down. A small trickle of tourists and mainland workers make their way off the dock.

She waits for the carriage to pass her, nodding her head at the driver, Clarissa, who gives her a friendly wave. Pushing away from the curb, she heads towards the library. She scoffs at the tourists standing in the middle of the road; they would never learn. Carefully pedaling around them, she comes to a breaking halt when she spots the small group across the street. She pulls off to the side, grabbing her phone for the sake of looking busy.

They followed her here. There was no way the Avengers were taking an October trip to the island for _fun_ . And being the local, she knows there aren't any crimes going on here that require _them_ to take over - not on the island at least. Her heart races and she can feel her blood pressure spike. _Fuck_.

Carefully, she peers over at them.

Captain America has his phone out and they're looking at the end of the street, towards the Fort, completely oblivious to her. They have bags thrown over their shoulders, clearly ready to stay for a night. Or hunt her down. She needs to get home.

She tries her best not to speed to the end of the street. Following the gentle curve of the road, passing the library, to the small white house on the water. The waves were crashing against the rocks as she unlatched the white fence gate. She watched the street warily for a moment, eyes seeking out the faces of the famous trio, but was pleasantly surprised to see that she wasn't followed.

Once inside with her bike, she leans against the front door with a heavy sigh. This was so fucked up. If there was ever a time that she wished for her brother to be here, it was right freaking now. He was better at plans; at strategy, but definitely not sticking to that set blueprint, that's for sure. Running a shaky hand through her hair, allowing herself a moment to have a full freakout.

The house is dark and dusty from misuse. It was her dad's plan all along after he was given the place when he was working in the medical center in the 90s. She has a lot to do. With an attempt at a calming breath, she pushes off from the door with her bag in hand and vanishes to the cabin.

 

* * *

 

It's a step up from their previous lodging, that's for sure. The resort on the east end of the island is almost completely empty besides them. Checking in under the fake name Stark had given, they situate themselves in the two suites. It overlooks a tennis court and a small park. Beyond that is the lake. Standing in front of the sliding patio door, Bucky can see the shine of the Round Island Lighthouse to the south. The yellow glow sweeps across the water; making the lake glitter with manufactured sunbeams.

Sam's tapping away on the laptop at the table, a satellite image of the island on the small screen, "It's completely covered by forest. The lighthouse is the only _known_ structure." Bucky pulls away from the door to peer over Sam's shoulder. "But the last energy signature was here - " he points at the dead center of the island.

"A flyover won't show much, even with night vision," Bucky muses thoughtfully. Sam turns to him with a, far too excited, smile. Bucky backs away, "No."

"All hands on deck, Barnes."

He runs his hand over his face, feeling sick already.

Sam stands with a grin and clamps his hand down on Bucky's shoulder, "I won't drop you."

He scrunches his face in disgust, "I hate you."

Sam steps away to unpack his gear from the duffle bag. He's dripping with glee, "Wouldn't have it any other way, tin-man."

 

* * *

 

The computers in the downstairs bedroom show everything functioning perfectly. The bear tracks had been carefully laid out, leading to the shield and off to the side of the fake den. It worked for all the campers that made it to the island, it wouldn't hurt to try it on them. Her boys were comfortably enjoying a night inside. She wasn't really sure what she should do here. This wasn't exactly a common occurrence in her life.

And she couldn't even be sure that they were actually following her, or that they would come to the island at all. But she had to cover all her bases. Maybe they already knew her identity. With all the technology those guys had access to, it might be easier to crack the code than what the local news had been struggling to do for the last ten years. They could easily be at the office asking around for her. Or standing outside that house on the water.

She carefully checks the cloaking shield's integrity once more. Praying to whatever gods were listening that they wouldn't come to the island. She didn't need the Avengers suddenly thrown into her life.

 

* * *

 

Bucky is dropped, unceremoniously, on the rocky ground surrounding the lighthouse. He lands solidly, in a crouch. As he stands, he glares up at Sam who descends a few feet away, "I hate you."

His wings fold in on his back as he turns to Bucky with an amused smile, "Let me know how you plan to get back, then."

Wanda was already there waiting for them by the treeline. The glow of the lighthouse ran across the birch trees - their only light source going forward. Bucky gives a final look at the main island, the gentle glimmer of the downtown street and docks seem so far away now.

"We fan out. I'll take the southern shore, Wanda to the north," He strides towards Bucky, "and the non-flyer will take the middle stretch."

Bucky sneers at him as they walk towards the forest. Wanda stops near a small metal sign to read the warning listed, "Ooh, they have bears." The flash of the rotating light illuminates her smile, making it look more sinister than it actually is.

 

* * *

 

She clenches her fists anxiously as she watches the cameras surrounding the cabin. Maybe she got a little too cocky, just like he had. She should have never shown herself like that. She had been more than content to be the neighborhood hero in this stretch of the world. The Avengers could have New York and take on the aliens and AI intent on destroying the world. She could do small town cases. She could have just done that and been fine and never been found.

She gnaws at the inside of her cheek and worries at the silver chain around her neck.

 

* * *

 

Bucky’s able to follow a small path at first, worn down ever so slightly, to a small clearing. Fallen trees and branches are shoved together in a pyramid fashion. Looks like the work of kids. Maybe a camping spot, judging by the ring of rocks in the center of the clearing with remnants of ash contained within them. The moonlight breaks through the trees and gives him a better visual of his surroundings.

His heavy combat boots crunch the leaves and twigs as he navigates the twisted path of rocks and fallen timber. He pauses to asses his direction. The hair on the back of his neck bristles as the wind blows through the darkened woods. He can hear the rustle of leaves making their way to the forest floor. But it’s quiet. A little too quiet. And then he looks down at the large animal track in front of him. It looked fresh in the wet dirt.

“Sam?” He says quietly into the comm, “Think Wanda was right about those bears.”

The gentle static rings in his ear before he hears a giddy, “Oh, my!”

 _There better not be any lions or tigers with it._ He quietly stresses, “ _Sam_.”

“You have a gun, Barnes.”

For killing and maiming people, yes. For a giant bear, it would work better as a club. He shudders before trekking forward, sidestepping the track as he goes.

 

* * *

 

The beeping of her pager almost sends her through the roof. Allowing the remainder of her nerves to calm down, she looks at the message and frowns.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She checks the locks one last time before patting Ryder’s head, grabbing her go bag, and vanishing.

 

* * *

 

Wanda walks next to him as they close in on the center of the island. Carefully looping to avoid the tracks of an animal that was apparently very close by. They spot the white of Sam’s uniform coming from the east towards them. Bucky shoulders his rifle as they near him.

“Nothing?” He asks the pair.

“Not even a bear,” Wanda sighs.

Sam furrows his brow, thinking up the next course of action. Redwing buzzes towards them from the south shore. The drone had been keeping an eye in the sky, centered in on the last known location of the energy signature. Bucky turns, hearing a low rumble. Sam drops his arm and they follow his gaze. The sky above them is suddenly blindingly bright as two figures fly down to them. Tony’s mask flips away as Rhodey touches down with a loud metal ‘thud’.

“Hey guys, we were in the neighborhood. See anything about two minutes ago, right over there?” He points at the trees a few feet away.

They stare at one another, confused. Tony sighs and brings up a holo-map between them. Three energy signatures appear, one directly where they’re standing. Sam steps forward with a shake of his head, staring at the blue map. Bucky and Wanda had been walking right toward that, he should have seen something of that bright intensity from a mile away. But he hadn’t.

“FRIDAY?”

“Scanning the area.”

Sam searches through Redwing's recordings. Bucky walks towards the darkened trees, Tony quickly moving in front of him to take the lead. He holds his arm up as he scans.

“It’s the same one, boss. But I should remind you of the most recent one on the other island - “

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony stops abruptly to turn back to Sam. “While the Girl Scouts were out exploring, the thing showed up over on the other island, at the medical building.”

Wanda steps forward, “It’s not a thing, Tony. It’s a girl.”

Tony’s eyebrows raise with interest, “What, like Luna Girl or…?” He glances over at Rhodes, pulling a face, “Oh, I’m sorry, am I the only one getting roped into watching Disney Junior with my kid?”

Rhodey laughs with a shake of his head, “You’ve fallen a long way from grace, Tony.”

He scrunches his face up as he shoulders past Bucky, “Come on, Troop.”

As they follow Tony to the shoreline, Bucky can’t help but look back at the woods, still searching for a sign of something. But he finds none there. And, after a moment, he carefully treks out to the rocky beach with the others.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions throughout the chapter:**  
>  **1.** Mackinac Island is a small tourist trap in between the upper and lower peninsulas of Michigan. It's one of three islands within a ferry ride away from the central cities. It's known for its charming old buildings, historical markers, fudge, and the fact that there are no cars allowed on the streets (besides emergency vehicles). You get around by walking, horses, carriages, or bikes. Snowmobiles in the winter months. It has under 500 year-round residents.  
>  **2.** Round Island is a mile away, it is uninhabited and part of the Hiawatha National Forest. The only building is the old lighthouse. People can kayak there from the main island and camp.  
>  **3.** Bois Blanc is the last island and the largest. It's population is under 100 people and it gets nowhere near the amount of tourists that Mackinac does.  
>  **4.** Ferry boats are the main way to the island. Usually about 15 - 30 minute rides. Mackinac and Bois Blanc have airports as well for small aircraft. Two dock points are in Mackinaw City in the lower peninsula and St. Ignace in the upper peninsula.  
>  **5.** "Fudgies" is the islander way of referring to tourists. Because of the crazy amounts of fudge that is made on the island.


	3. Part 003 | Friendly northern Michigan superhero

She appears in the basement storage room. Catching her breath for only a moment, she books it to the stairs. Shouldering the door open to the sound of screams. Tanner is there to greet her with a tight smile.

"Came as soon as I could," she ties her hair back as she strides towards the young nurse.

"We have her in room three, ambulance is ready to take her to the airport as soon as the mainland gets back to us."

She forces herself to breathe, desperately trying to push away any thoughts of the people looking for her. The people who were very near and could very well be asking around for her. Now she was Dr. Smith. Reaching the room in question, she toes the door further open, "Miss Maggie, what are you doing here?"

The woman groans. Tanner hands her a pair of blue gloves.

"How far apart?" She asks him softly.

"Four minutes, but she's only at eighty percent effacement, two centimeters dilated."

At that, she raises her eyebrows. She places her hand on the woman's knee, "Maggie, I'm gonna need to have a feel, okay?"

Maggie nods her head, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Tanner helps the woman bring her knees up to her chest as she grabs the bottle of lubricant. After performing the exam, trying to be as gentle as possible, she tosses the used gloves into the trash.

She pulls her nurse to the side, "False labor would be ideal, but she's up to a three and a half now. We need to have her transferred to a NICU center. We don't have the proper equipment to deal with this here. Get mainland on the phone again, she's progressing and we need them here now."

He hurries out of the room. She sits down by her patient, letting her squeeze her hand with each contraction. Trying to focus on this moment and not the reality she had just escaped.

 

* * *

 

They're sitting in the large presidential suite Tony had managed to book at the resort. Definitely not obvious to _anyone at all_ that the Avengers were staying there. Sam's pacing in the living area, shaking his head.

"We should be tracking down that ring, Tony. Not going on some mystery superhero chase."

Tony's leaning against the large dining table, arms crossed defensively, "Well, I don't like mysteries. And _anyway_ , Fury has them now. He'll give us the relevant info when he gets it out of them. In the meantime, this seems like a better use of my resources."

"For what purpose?"

Tony shrugs, nonchalant, "I want to replace Barton."

Rhodes tuts at that. Wanda steps down from the raised platform of the kitchen, "Where _is_ Clint?"

Tony looks at the large bay windows suddenly, Sam follows his gaze, "Tony?"

"He's out," he replies lightly, stepping away from the couch.

Sam's stare tightens, voice dropping down an octave, "Out _where_?"

Tony moves further away, keeping his front to Sam as he backs his way around the couch, moving towards the master bedroom. "I told you, I don't like mysteries."

Sam rolls his eyes and faces Bucky, knowing when to pick his battles when it came to Stark. "I know how Steve felt now."

Bucky gives him a small smile.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, man, sorry about the wait. We had to call in our obstetrician for coverage. We’ll get someone to see you soon.”

Clint relaxes on the bed, “Don’t worry about it. It’s all good.”

The young nurse leaves, probably to attend to the screaming woman a few rooms over. He grabs the scanner from under his leg. The thing lights up like Christmas. He had been looking into the most recent signature, it was at some little house by the water, but no one had been around to ask about it and the place was properly secured and dark. He was about ready to start picking the lock when Tony had commed him about another signature and he was suddenly in a hospital with a 'sprained wrist'.

 _"I don't care what you do. Throw yourself off the Fort or something, just get in there!"_ Tony had told him.

He sits up, let’s his boots touch the floor. He waits a moment before going to the door. They’ve got someone on a stretcher with a group of attendants following after. Perfect time to go searching.

 

* * *

 

She had insisted on going in the ambulance, of course. Possibly for more than the obvious reason of being the most experienced person for the position in case the labor began to progress any further. She had assured Maggie of the options the mainland would have for her - something to stop labor, even. But if it came down to it, she would be in the best location for delivery. The dark streets blurred by. It was always a strange sight for the Islanders to see one of the only three vehicles out on the road. It had more than a few people opening their doors and pulling their curtains to the side in curiosity as they passed.

The urge to vomit rose exponentially when they made it to the tarmac of the small airstrip. Sitting off to the side, beyond the medical evacuation helicopter from the mainland, was the infamous Avengers quinjet. _God, they didn't even hide it out of view._ It was gonna be a gossipy island tomorrow.

She barely even acknowledged Ryan and the boys at first. But then Maggie was clutching her hand and instinct took over for executive function. She helped them get Maggie loaded up and gave her the best “everything will be fine” she could manage. Even convincing her husband to join her, _like, what you’re just gonna leave your wife to do this alone? Go, you idiot!_ _We’ll take care of the boys_. It’s not like she had a coherent plan for everything going on anyway.

Brian takes the ambulance back to the center and Todd gets everyone loaded up in the police cruiser the boys had used to get to the airport.

“Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on them. Grandparents won’t be able to get here until morning anyway,” she had told him as he drove them back to the small workers' village in the center of the island.

 

* * *

 

Tony has his head in his hands as he sits in the brown leather club chair, “What do you mean you _lost_ it?”

“It was there, lighting up like crazy, and I got out to look for this thing,” he takes a bite of the pepperoni pizza and continues with his mouth full, “Could’ve helped if you told me I was looking for a chick. Not just some,” he swallows, “random energy blob.”

Tony points a finger at Bucky, “Blame the Scouts for not relaying relevant information to _me_ first.”

Rhodey holds his arms open in question, “Well, she didn’t vanish again so, where exactly did you lose her?”

Clint licks the grease from his fingers, rubs his hand against his thigh, “they were med-evacing someone. Some pregnant woman, I think?”

Bucky groans and Sam’s face twists, “Tony, can we drop your fox hunt now?”

He holds his hands up defensively, “Was there a _single_ other woman there, cause I don’t think random vanishing acts should be performed in late pregnancy.”

Clint lolls his head to the side thoughtfully, “A doctor and a nurse.”

Tony extends his hand enthusiastically at Sam, “See? _Progress_!” He turns to Clint, “And did they both leave or - “

“I mean they both went out and the nurse came back?”

Tony claps his hands together, “Good, I can work with that. FRIDAY? Gonna need some personnel files, schedules, pay stubs, company picnics - whatever you can find me.”

 

* * *

 

It’s three in the morning when Tony successfully pulls up the profiles of two women in the living area. Clint's snoozing on the sofa and Sam's at the kitchen island on his phone - having tuned out Tony's voice two hours ago. Everyone else had disappeared to their rooms in favor of sleep over whatever Tony's so intent on discovering. Only Bucky is awake and interested at this point, which he can tell annoys Stark. But the man still wants to have his moment, so he puts up with the less than ideal audience.

The faces of two women light up in the holographic dome over the dining table.

"Okay, we got a Doctor Smith and Nurse Practitioner Doud." He swipes the Doctor's picture, bringing up a small profile. "Diane Smith, obstetrician on the island since 2018 - FRIDAY, do we have an address or something to work with?"

A map of the island comes to the forefront. Zooming in to just south of the bay, to a small house on the water. Bucky leans his weight towards Tony, eyes still focused on the map, "Isn't that where an energy read was?"

"Yeah, Barton was scoping it before he went to the hospital."

Bucky nods in recognition, even though Tony isn't even looking his way.

"Previous jobs, college degrees, a birth certificate, family?"

A picture of a man in a doctor's coat pulls up in front of the woman's picture, "Her father, Anthony Martin."

Bucky sees the birth and death dates before FRIDAY even has the chance to say "deceased". Graduated from the University of Michigan in 1982. A few different residencies across the state. On the island since 1997. Died of a stroke in 2016.

Her degree is pulled up next to his picture.

They go through Margaret Doud's profile next. A recent resident on the island with a large extended family. More available information comes up. College degree, a highschool diploma, mentions of six different previous jobs, even a few profile pictures.

"She's only been here since 2021, where our mysterious archer has been dealing out kicks since - "

"2013," Bucky interrupts.

Tony turns to actually look at him, "Should I even bother?" He swipes the nurse's profile away without an answer and begins to pace around the table. He claps his hands together, making Clint stir on the couch. "I want to say 'jackpot', but it seems too boisterous."

Bucky steps forward, swipes the man's picture away with his right hand to reveal the girl's face again. "Why the chase?"

Tony saunters up next to him and crosses his arms thoughtfully as he stares at the holo picture, "The world is just coming back together again. Thanos is gone, yeah. But God only knows what else is out there. I want to know who I can rely on." He turns his head towards Bucky, "We're shorthanded, I want everyone I can trust on my ship, you know?"

"Wouldn't more people make it sink?" Bucky asks.

Tony screws his face up, "What are you, Grandpa Drax now?

He lets out a genuine laugh. Tony softens. Bucky rubs his stubbled jaw tiredly, "So, what's the plan?"

Tony pauses for a moment, squints at her picture, "I don't know, lunch at the Grand?"

He hums in reply, "Think she knows? You guys didn't exactly hide the jet, did you?" Tony looks away. "She might be running now. Won't be easy to track down."

"It's a little island, everyone knows everyone here," he says defensively.

Bucky turns his body towards Stark and questions, "But would they rat her out to _us_?"

 

* * *

 

With a full hour of sleep under her belt, she is awoken to the cries of a toddler. She forces herself up from the worn plaid couch, back feeling incredibly tight. With a yawn and a stretch, she makes her way to the stairs. It had been a long night filled with a sense of dread that she couldn't push away. Feet feeling heavy and loud with each step. She opens the door with a creak to see the two-year-old shaking the railing of his crib.

"Hey, little man," she coos as she swoops him out.

He pushes against her chest with his feet, "Where's mumma? Mumma home!"

"No, buddy. Your mumma's at the hospital having a baby, remember?" He whines as she sways back and forth. She didn't even know what time it was. The sky was still dark, but that's typical of October mornings. The toilet flushes in the adjacent room. So, not just the baby was up, it seemed. "Wanna get some breakfast, bud, after we change your butt?"

He looks around the room for a moment before snuggling into her arms and quietly saying, "Okay."

In the kitchen, staring down the mess, she resolves that she'll at least take care of the dishes for them before they get back. The eldest boy, Alex, is already on the couch watching TV with his breakfast. She still needs to wrestle the twins up for school.

"What do you kids eat, hmmm?" She asks the giggling toddler. "Probably brussel sprouts and liver, right?"

"Nooo!" he laughs, weaving between her legs with his sippy cup to avoid her tickles.

She can do this. She can totally handle this until their grandparents arrive. And then she can have her panic attack and maybe go into hiding or something. But in the meantime, she's gonna toast some pop tarts and slice up a banana.

The living room smells of wet dog, which only makes her think of her seven back on the island. Goddamnit.

"I let Sadie out, but it was raining."

She looks at Alex, then down at the muddy pawprints. She can do this.

The twins, Tyler and Eric, are finally dragged out to the living room. Perking up slightly when they realize their mom isn't there. But then they remember their doctor is the one taking care of them and they lose some of their gusto.

"You guys are good to go?" She asks the three boys as they line up by the door with their backpacks and helmets.

"Mhmm," Tyler replies as he snaps his bag on.

She stands back to let them head out, "Okay, just know your grandpa's probably gonna be here when you get home."

"Yeah. Okay, bye!" He says hurriedly, trying to distance himself as soon as humanly possible.

She grabs Oliver as he tries to make a run after his older brothers. She chides him lightly as she carries him back in. What does one do with a two-year-old when the reality of her situation is sinking in harder and harder? She turns on Disney Junior and lets him pull out every toy they own into a giant pile in front of the couch.

Cleaning up the kitchen and keeping a trained eye on Oliver, she tries to formulate a plan. But nothing sticks. Everything she thinks of ends up in some god awful disaster. It's not like she wants to spend the rest of her life running, not when she had carved something out for herself here on the islands. But she doesn't want the Avengers breathing down her neck either.

What was the worse thing to happen if they found her? They want her to cease and desist? They want to keep watch of her? They want her for the team?

Everything her dad had warned them of, of being too public, was being jeopardized. But who's fault was that? After he had died, she went out and started working on her powers anyway. And that first fucking robbery they stopped. It was like seeing the sun for the first time - they couldn't get enough of it. They flew too close to that sun. And she had just gone and thrown herself hurtling headfirst towards it the other night by getting tangled up with the Avengers.

 

* * *

 

Bucky watches Sam and Wanda hop onto the yellow carriage - Sam looking heavily annoyed by the situation. Tony had them split up to search the island. Clint was down at the docks, keeping an eye on the ferries. FRIDAY was activated in the quinjet down at the airstrip. So, unless the girl vanished again, they had eyes on all the possible ways off the island. Everyone else was tasked with recon. Which is how he found himself downtown, attempting to blend in with the other tourists.

Stark had made a failed attempt to call the hospital for her. Claiming his wife needed an obstetrician. But the receptionist had said she was out and could get another doctor for assistance. When pressed for Dr. Smith's schedule, he had been told that was private information and the best she could do was get another doctor to help his wife.

If he didn't watch himself, he was going to make the whole island aware of the Avengers and their intentions.

With the hood of his coat pulled up - both for the disguise and the actual weather - he makes his way to the end of the street. Passing the shoppers looking for end-of-the-season bargains and older couples looking to _"see the colors!"_ , whatever that meant.

Clint had mentioned checking out the place last night but never made it inside. It's only a house away from the small library, right on the water. As he nears the white picket fence, he can see the distant horizon of the mainland beyond the tumbling waves. The yard is lightly covered in weeds. And where most of the houses on the island, especially on the main street, are heavily decorated and gardened this one is uncharacteristically bare. Giving the sense that no one actually lives in it.

He gives a casual look up and down the street before opening the gate. Following the stone path to the tiny cement porch, covered by white latticework. The blinds are drawn on every window. Even though he knows it's a lost cause, he knocks on the front door. Twice. But no one comes and there's no sound from inside. He moves along the side of the house, arriving in the back to the view of the lake only a few yards away. There's a single red adirondack chair in the grass, faded by the weather to a rusty pink. The backdoor is easy to pick open.

The first thing he notices is the musty smell. Followed by the complete minimalism of the place. It reminds him of his apartment in Romania, so many years ago now. He carefully treks across the floor. Passing a bathroom and a door to a bedroom. They're both empty of life. With only a single twin bed in the bedroom, no sheets covering the mattress. The front room is just as bare as the rest of the house, besides a faded blue couch and a lone bicycle leaning against the wall.

She probably uses the house as storage and to keep up appearances to the neighbors. Stark did say there was an energy signal here, just before she went to the other island. But if she wasn't living here, then where was she?

 

* * *

 

It's somewhere around the third hour of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, where she's struggling to keep her eyes open, that she hears the saving grace of a knock at the front door. Oliver perks right up, running towards the front of the house as he excitedly babbles _"papa, papa, papa"_. She is beyond ready for an expert to take over at this point.

She really should have been more aware, maybe she can blame it on the anxiety and lack of sleep. But it still comes as a complete surprise to her when she opens the front door and the air comes rushing out of her lungs.

"Hey, oh - I'm not intruding, am I?"

Oliver clings to her leg as she backs away from Tony Stark. He, seemingly oblivious to her reaction, walks right in.

"Nice place, very up north fishing cabin." He walks right past her and into the kitchen.

"It's not mine," she stutters - rooted to the floor.

He pauses, standing behind the back of the couch, "Oh, I know that. Just babysitting, right?" He turns his attention to the TV as Mickey starts singing, "Wow. I'm just grateful mine was never into this." He crosses his arms and glances back at them. "Her forte was more PJ Masks. Considering my career path, I suppose it makes the most sense. I mean, her third birthday was just that, but on a whole other level - "

"I'm sorry, what is happening right now?"

His face drops, "Think it's obvious. But we don't need to talk shop in front of the kid if that's your concern."

She squints, barely processing the entirety of the moment yet, "Yeah, that'd be… that'd be preferable."

"You know, it's funny what you hear in the grocery store. Apparently, your pal Maggie was in labor and somehow you ended up on kid duty. Is everyone on this island that prone to gossip?"

Oliver unclenches his grip finally, peering out from behind her at the strange man. She crosses her arms, "Probably not as bad as seeing a quinjet parked on our runway."

The wince is small and barely noticeable, but it _is_ there.

Feeling a little more confident, she moves forward defiantly, "Or maybe a few pictures of Iron Man doing a flyover last night. That'd probably get the people talking."

He crosses his legs as he leans against the back of the plaid couch, "And what about your little trick, magic, thing? Lot of people talking about that around here?"

She falters, "I - I don't know what you're talking about."

He raises his eyebrows with a small twitch of a smirk on his lips, "Okay. We can play that game."

Oliver steps next to Tony and taps his leg with a small Iron Man action figure. He looks down at the touch and smiles at the kid.

 

* * *

 

She can recall everything from the past two hours, but she's still a bit dumbfounded as to how she ended up in the Seabiscuit with Tony Stark. They're locked away in the far corner booth, with his back to the rest of the cafe. As if she needs everyone to see who she's dining with.

"That's you, isn't it?" She stares at the picture on his phone that he pushes across the table. It's her from before the Decimation in full disguise. He takes a sip of his coffee.

She nods her head numbly, "Yeah."

"Huh," he takes it back from her, stares at the picture a little longer. "Homemade?"

"Local."

His lips twist up in an amused smirk, "You have a local superhero tailor?"

She shakes her head slowly in her hands as the beginnings of a headache form behind her brow, "No, but they do the job."

He taps his hand absentmindedly against his white mug, "Up for a redesign? Maybe some modifications?"

She raises her head suddenly, eyes wide, "I'm sorry?"

"Generic leggings probably aren't the most bullet resistant or flammable," he swipes through his phone nonchalantly.

Her head tilts to the side, "What are you - "

A large hulking figure saunters up to Tony. For his credit, he only glances down at the man's feet in recognition. He takes another sip of his coffee, "Take a seat, icebox."

The man pulls his hood back, revealing his long brown hair that's pulled into a bun on the back of his head. He sits with his back to the bar. His eyes bore into her with a calculated stare.

"I have to do everything, honestly," Tony mumbles with a trained gaze on his phone.

She stares at the man's gloved hands. She recognizes him somehow.

Tony waves a noncommittal hand in his direction, "I found your Mirage, Barnes. You can thank me later."

"I don't - " The man starts with a rush.

"No, no. Your frozen expression is thanks enough."

Barnes leans back in his chair awkwardly. She gets it, as they sit in uncomfortable silence as Tony continues on his phone. She folds her arms on the table, tapping her fingers on her coat sleeve. A waitress comes by for his order, but much like she had done ten minutes prior, he waves her off with a _no, thank you_. A moment passes.

"You fight good."

She looks in surprise at the man. His face is neutrally drawn. She can't help herself as she mutters, "Oh. Thank you, Shang."

Tony pulls away from his phone, "Did you just Mulan him? That sounded like a Disney reference." He points a joyful finger at her before looking at Barnes with a grin, which falters slightly at the man's expression. "What? I have a kid," he says defensively, before adding a softer, " _Touchy_."

The man doesn't remove his gaze from her. It's unsettling. _Barnes_. It sounds familiar, but she still can't place it. He leans forward slightly, "You don't live here."

She pulls a face, "I do. I live right down by the library."

He shakes his head, "No, you don't. That place is empty."

She looks at Tony, brows drawn, "I mean, I know you were tracking me down, _apparently_ , but you sent someone to, what, scope out my house?"

He pulls his coffee mug away from his lips, "Maybe if you didn't go on the run from us - "

"How would you feel if the Avengers were coming after you?!" She questions with a slight panic.

"Okay, _probably_ . Beause they're the _good_ guys," Tony drags. She settles back in the booth with a bristle. He looks over at Barnes, "You broke into her house?" The other man falters. Tony runs his hand over his forehead, "Excessive. The word I'm looking for is excessive. But it does draw the question," He looks back at her, "Where is your little hideout?"

She opens and closes her mouth without an answer. "I don't…"

Tony finally places his phone down on the table, "Things will probably work a lot easier if we don't have to drag every little thing out of you."

"Is this an interrogation?" She settles her arms across her chest.

Tony leans back in his chair thoughtfully, fingers tapping on the edge of the table, "No? Just a friendly lunch between common interest acquaintances."

She hums in reply and lets her arms slowly drop to her lap. "I have a cabin over on Round Island."

Tony's head does a curious tilt, "My girl scouts scoped that place out last night."

She bites her lip to hide a smile, "Yeah. I know."

Tony looks over at the other man, "Hey, ice cube. Did you fail to mention something?"

His arm flexes as he draws his hands into fists, "We saw nothing over there, Stark."

"Well did you look _under_ the island?"

The other man stares at Tony. Feeling the need to end his misery, she interrupts, "Cloaking shields."

They both turn to look at her.

She drops her hand on the table, feeling a heavy weight settle in her stomach. "My cabin is under a cloaking shield."

Tony raises his brows in interest, "Can't get those at your local store."

"You'd have to ask my father where he got them. It was all his idea."

Bucky leans forward, "Why?"

The weight becomes heavier now, "Think two kids with _abilities_ won't draw some attention? This was before you," she gestures her hand at Tony, "were flying around in your suit. Better to have us hidden from sight."

"You said two, right? Where's your partner - I'm assuming it's the two of you in all those articles?"

She feels nauseatingly sick. Looking down at her hands for a moment, she misses the look shared between the two men. She finally speaks with a soft voice, "My brother, Jack."

The way she says it must make the meaning clear, because Tony only says, "My condolences." Then he pauses his hand, "Wait, did you say Jack. Like, _Jack & Diane _? The Mellencamp song? Did your parents know that song is about - "

"We didn't know that when we chose them. We were five."

Barnes shakes his head with a confused look, "Chose them?"

She tries to roll the kink from her shoulders to little avail, " _Again_ , keeping us out of sight meant fake names. My dad he… he had this playlist with that song on it and we heard it, like, every day. It was the obvious choice."

"I'm guessing Smith isn't your last name either," Tony comments lightly.

"The Smiths were on the playlist too," she adds lamely. Her brother wanted to call himself Freddie Mercury originally - there were four Queen songs on the playlist - but her dad thought it might have been a little too obvious.

Tony drums his hand on the table, deep in thought. Barnes can't seem to meet her gaze now. "Why the hiding?" Tony catches her furrowed expression, "I mean, I'm sure a vanishing kid could raise some questions. But even before the Avengers, it's not like the world was skimping on people with weird abilities. I'm kinda surprised Xavier didn't pick up on the two of you."

She shrugs, "You'd have to ask him for his reasoning. And you mean Charles Xavier? You'd have to be a mutant to get picked up for his school. My dad tried that, but - "

"You're not a… so what, you were hit by radiation or something?"

"Not a lot of that kind of thing up here. No chemical explosions, or nuclear reactions, or radioactive bites," Tony flinches at that, "Just normal human DNA. He tested that too."

Tony looks her down with a calculated stare, "So, what exactly are you?"

"Your friendly northern Michigan superhero?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions throughout the chapter:**  
>  **1.** NICU stays are no joke, I speak from experience. They are the worst possible thing in the world for a parent to experience. Good for the babies, heartwrenching for the parents. 0/10, would not recommend.  
>  **2.** _"See the colors!"_ This is a known phrase in Michigan. The old folk love to go on road trips to see the changing leaves during the fall. A lot of people go to Mackinac at the end of season to catch them.  
>  **3.** Fort Mackinac was built on the 150-foot limestone bluffs of the island in the Revolutionary War. It's currently a living history museum with reenactors and exhibits throughout the restored buildings.


	4. Part 004 | My name is Bucky.

Tony had been systematically avoiding the person who had been calling him for thirty minutes as she had attempted to answer more of their questions. His finger pushing the _ignore_ button more purposely with each call. Then Barnes had his phone buzzing, some basic burner flip phone. And he had actually answered, listening for only a moment before holding it up to Tony.

“This is why I put you with Sam, you’re not a team player,” he begrudgingly takes the phone from Barnes’ gloved hand. “Oh, hey, man. What? _No_ , must have some, uh, cell reception issues up here - ” he trails off as he gets up from the booth, heading towards the bar.

She drums her fingers on the dark wood table, “So, you broke into my house.”

He gives a small groan, running his hand over his jaw, “It was… I just - ”

She stops him before he can strangle himself with his own embarrassment, “It’s fine, I guess. I don’t even live there, obviously.” She pushes away from the table, leaning against the upholstered seat, “My dad got it when he became the head doctor on the island. We stayed there for a year while he worked on the cabin.”

His expression is finally looking more relaxed, the muscles in his jaw aren’t so tightly bound now. He doesn’t look so intimidatingly cold. She shrugs her coat off, getting the feeling that they aren’t leaving anytime soon. He rubs his hands together and she finds it a bit strange that he still has his gloves on.

“That was you on the roof the other night, wasn’t it?” It had been hard to see him properly through her massive adrenaline rush. And the night vision goggles hadn’t helped much either. But his face looks incredibly familiar. She just can’t place how she recognizes him.

He gives her a small nod, “Yeah.”

She nods slowly, crosses her arms over her chest, “So, you’re like an agent or…?”

His eyebrows raise with widened eyes for a flash of a second. He glances back at Tony who is still in the middle of his call - as if he was surprised by what she had said. “Something like that,” he mumbles.

Finding the conversation hitting a wall, she looks around the cafe. Usually, it’s packed this time of day. But with the limited number of tourists, it’s far quieter than she’s ever seen. She can just make out the few people on the sidewalk outside. She likes this time of year when the traffic dies down and everyone gets a chance to breathe again. It’s a time for the residents to reconnect and have the usual _thank God that’s over_ look in their eyes.

She fiddles with her necklace as she eyes the two people outside. The man is looking up and down the street conspicuously. The woman he’s with just pushes past him to open the door to the cafe. The redhead spots her right away as Captain America trails after.

“You got off easy, Buck,” The man sighs as he walks over to their table. “My ass is gonna be sore for days.” He points a finger at her as a way of greeting, “What do you people have against cars over here? This isn’t 1873.”

She’s a bit taken back, admittedly. After spending almost three hours going toe-to-toe with Tony Stark, her gusto was starting to wain. She gives him the generic islander answer, “It’s been that way since 1898, actually.”

He slides into the booth, hands resting on the table in a loose clasp. “I’ll give you this, the people out there are eating it up. Go on a cute little horse and buggy tour or whatever. But you’re gonna tell me that you all bike around here in the winter - well, everyone besides _you_ , I’m assuming?”

She bristles at the implication, “Snowmobile, actually. And we’re not _that_ outdated. We haven’t escaped the future,” She gestures towards the windows, “We have a Starbucks.”

He laughs, “Well, hot damn. Y'all are on track to becoming Wakanda up here.” That makes Barnes shake his head with a laugh. The man tones it down enough to extend her a hand, “Sam Wilson.” Tentatively, she shakes it. “See you already met Stark and tin-man.”

She pulls her hand back, “Yeah, one hunted me down and the other did some breaking and entering.”

He gives a toothy grin, “Sorry ‘bout that. I doubt this one apologized for it.” Sam gestures his head towards Barnes. He’s got an agitated look about him now as he shakes his head, gloved fists clenching - like he’s ready to start arguing.

She shakes her head before the other man can struggle out a reply, “It’s okay. I was just telling him that I don’t even live there. Probably just saw a dusty shell of a house and my bike. Gotta keep up appearances somehow.”

Sam leans back in the booth, runs a finger across his chin, “Why the ruse? Do you need these people thinking you live here for some reason? Superpowers and all that aside.”

She gnaws on her lip for a moment before answering, “It was just the safer option when we were kids - “

“We?”

“Her brother,” Barnes says for her.

She nods at Sam, “Yeah. Just easier to have us in a safe house off the grid.”

He eyes her for a second, “And where exactly _is_ this off-grid safe house?”

“About a mile and a half away, over on the island you guys were searching last night.”

His brows raise and he looks at Barnes, “See! I knew we were missing something over there.” He turns his attention back to her, “Bet it’s right in the center of the place, saw a massive energy reading there. You got a bunker or something?”

She shakes her head and waves a tired hand, “Cloaking shields, camouflages the whole place.”

“And as much as I want to check those out,” Tony saunters up to the table with the redhead by his side. “Papa Fury wants us up to the Soo Locks,” he looks down at Sam, “we have a reliable lead.” After sliding the flip phone back to Barnes, he grabs his coat from the chair and shrugs it on, looking down at her, “We’ll be in touch.”

Sam leans back, “That’s it?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tony says plainly.

Sam waves his hand between her and Tony, “All this runaround and we’re out, just like that?”

Tony drops a fifty down on the table, not even looking at Sam, “Yep. Let’s move it, Cap. I can hear the Locks calling.”

Sam gives in with a shrug, standing up to join them. Barnes moves to stand as well, but Tony stops him, “Down, Soldier. You’re staying.”

“Tony, what the - “

“Stark, you have no - “

He cuts them off with a loud _shhhsh_ , “Ah-ah-ah. We still need eyes here, not just because of our new friend,” he smiles at her; it seems fake. “They’re calling for another shipment in three days at the St. Ignace docks. We’ll keep Barnes and Barton here.” He looks at Sam and the woman, “You two head up there and do your reconnaissance with Rhodes.”

Sam folds his arms across his puffed out chest, “And you’re gonna be where?”

Tony screws his face up, as if the answer was obvious, “A very important classroom Halloween party.”

Sam drops his arms in defeat and looks over at the seated man, “Sorry, Buck. Can’t fight a man wanting to see his kid.” He slaps his hand down on Barnes’ shoulder, “We’ll see you.”

The two of them leave the cafe. Tony leans across the table to extend a small card to her, “Seriously, we’ll be in touch. Call me if this one breaks into your house again or something,” he jerks a thumb at Barnes. He stands and gives the man a lazy salute, “At ease, popsicle.”

He pulls his phone out and holds it to his ear as he leaves, talking to someone on the other end with an excited tone. She watches him pass by the cafe windows and out of sight. Her hands drop to the tabletop, Stark’s business card between her fingers. She looks at the man across from her, “I’m sorry, what just happened here?”

 

* * *

 

It’s a mutual decision to head out after a full ten minutes of silence. She walked beside him, unsure what she should do now. All that earth-shattering anxiety had led to this? Tony Stark giving her a simple _keep up the good work_ with a mention of modifying her costume in the future. They didn’t tell her to stop. They honestly didn’t do much of anything besides giving her a self-induced panic attack. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

They stop in front of May's, standing under the blue and white awning, as the quinjet ascents from the airport in the north. The two of them watch it fly into the distance as they’re surrounded by the warm smell of fudge and the loud chattering of bargain shoppers.

He looks down at her, his gaze is softer than it had been in the cafe. But his voice is still low and steely like it’s been out of use for a while, “So, now what?”

Shrugging, she pulls her coat closer to fight the brisk wind, “Sounds like you have _your_ mission.”

She notices the slight twitch of his broad shoulders. As a group of women passes them, he pulls the hood of his coat back up, making it obscure his profile a little more. Strands of his brown hair fall into his face, escaping the loose bun he had tied them into. _God, where does she know him from?_

“Yeah, sounds like it,” he mutters with a glance towards his dark boots. He lifts his gaze after a moment and his eyes meet her stare. “What about you?”

Another shrug, “Stark didn’t tell me off or give me a slap on the wrist. I’ll do my thing here. Be the small town hero, or whatever, while you guys handle the world ending stuff.”

He nods, stuffs his hands into his coat pockets and turns to brace his back against a particularly strong gust of wind. He looks like he has something further to say or ask of her, but the sound of the Doctor Who theme song starts playing in her back pocket.

“Shit, sorry. One second,” She apologizes softly. Pulling her phone out, she swipes to answer the call from work, “Hey, Linda. What’s up?”

_“Sorry to bother you, Diane. You weren’t answering your pages. Mainland’s been calling for you.”_

She bites her lip, it must be about Maggie. She uses her free hand to pull her windswept hair from her face. “Well, I’m downtown now. I can be there in… a few minutes?”

 _“Okay, I’ll hold them off until then. See you in a bit!”_ The older woman ends the call with a cheerful tone.

She puts her phone back into her pocket. What a fucking roller coaster of a day. Looking back at her silent companion, he looks apprehensive. Shaking her head with a smile, “You know. I heard a lot of nicknames today, but I never actually got your name.”

The edges seem to soften. He has blue eyes, she realizes softly. The laugh lines around them crinkle as he squints against the afternoon sun. He’s hesitating. It looks like he’s thinking it over, for some reason, before he finally says, “My name is Bucky.”

God, it sounds familiar - she should definitely know this guy. She nods with a warm smile, “Well, Bucky. Maybe I’ll see you around. It’s certainly been…  interesting.”

She turns to leave. “What about you?” She pauses, looks back at him. Sheepishly, he continues, “You said that Diane wasn’t your real name.”

She tuts, amused, “You think after twenty-some years, I’m just gonna give that out?” A genuine laugh escapes her lips. She can almost forget the complete lack of sleep and madness of the past few hours. He smiles back at her. “I’ll see you, Bucky.”

He tilts his head down in reply, scuffs his boot against the cement as she heads up the side street to the medical center.

 

* * *

 

Luckily, it had been a relatively uncomplicated labor. Baby Preston only had some minor issues to attend to in the NICU - fluid in the lungs, lower than ideal oxygen levels - but he was on a good track. After scheduling a postpartum checkup for Maggie, she is bombarded by the second shift nurse, Sara, who is eagerly holding out her phone.

“Did she send over pictures of the baby already?” She asks as she grabs the nurse’s phone.

“Have you seriously not heard?”

She looks down at the Twitter post. A picture of Iron Man flying right over the bay.

“There’s a ton of them!” Sara snatches the phone back, swipes it a few times, then shoves it back into her stunned hands.

Another picture, stealthily taken in front of Marquette Park. It’s pretty blurred because of how zoomed in it is, but it’s definitely Sam and the redhead woman on a carriage. The text overlaying the top of the picture reads: _Avengers rolling in XD_.

“Wish I could have seen them, but we’ve been swarmed.” Sara doesn’t seem to take in her silent reaction. “You were just downtown, right? Did you see any of them?”

She hands the woman her phone back, “What? _No_. That’s like… wow, so crazy.” Her tone doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, but her nurse doesn’t even notice as she excitedly swipes through more pictures.

“Yeah, right? Like, their Instagram said they were taking a little vacation or something?” She holds the phone back up. This time from the official Avengers account. It’s taken from Iron Man’s suit mid-flight, as all you can see is his hand doing a peace sign in front of the Mackinac Bridge.

“Wow, yeah, that’s so, so crazy.”

She wants to vanish. But she holds it together. Even after Linda starts going on about seeing War Machine on her way to work that morning. And how he looked to be an incredibly fit, young man. Somehow, she manages to escape - using Maggie’s kids as the perfect excuse, commenting on her lack of sleep. Her wonderful receptionist instantly tells her to go home. Which she does, vanishing to her cabin as soon as she reaches the bottom of the stairwell.

 

* * *

 

Clint leans against the door frame with his arms crossed. His eyes squint and his nose turns up at Bucky. He scratches his elbow. “You know, I’ll never get used to that smell,” he gestures his hand at the gun oil on the table. He strides towards him. “Nat always used that stuff.”

Bucky turns his head at the mention of Natasha, but he doesn’t reply. Choosing to methodically reassemble the Glock in his hands instead. It’s something to focus his energy on, something that doesn’t require emotions to handle. Nat would probably make a snarky comment about it if she was here.

Clint’s gaze is distant. He knew her too. Bucky forgets that sometimes. It was two different lives she had lived. He never really had the chance to see the _Avenger_ Black Widow - the woman free of the Red Room and HYDRA’s cold grasp. He can’t help but wonder what she would think of him now.

And then there was that girl. It’s like she didn’t recognize him. His face had been plastered on the news for months following the battle against Thanos. All the footage from his trial had been played on every major station. He was one of the most discussed people in American news coverage for at least a full month. You know, once everyone got over The Vanished returning and the chaos that ensued from all of that. But somehow, she hadn’t known who he was.

The other man plops down in the chair next to him, sitting backwards on it and resting his arms on the back. He rests his chin on his crossed arms as he watches Bucky finish up with the firearm.

“She cool?” His jaw bounces on his arms as he speaks.

Bucky glances at him as he wipes his hands off on the old stained rag.

“The vanishing archer,” Clint elaborates when Bucky doesn’t reply.

He places the gun in its case. “She seemed,” he pauses, looking for the right word, “out of her depth.”

Clint scoffs, “Most people are when faced with us.” He laughs, raises his head off his arms, “Tony found her, yeah?”

Bucky nods.

“Few hours with him would put any sane person on edge,” he smiles and leans away, hands holding the back of the chair.

Bucky rolls the brushes up in the cloth case and caps up the oil and cleaner bottles. His movements familiar muscle memory at this point.

Clint rubs his face with a heavy hand, “God. Three days till we have movement, yeah?”

“That’s what Stark said.”

He nods, “Damn. Told Laura and the kids I’d be back by the 31st.”

Bucky stops himself from just nodding in reply. Settling his hands in his lap instead, “You probably could.” He watches the other man’s brows raise. “Three days out. If it’s anything like the last collection, it won’t be heavy security.”

“Yeah, except they were caught and they’re probably expecting something like that again.”

Bucky tilts his head back and forth thoughtfully, “Maybe. Or they saw them heading up north in the jet - think we’ve left the area.”

Clint leans forward, “What, you think it’s a red herring or something?”

Bucky shrugs, “Could be. Or they might just be focusing their efforts to the source.” He relaxes in the chair, crosses his extended legs. “We have three days of waiting here. Shipment won’t come in until the first. Could be home and back, if you wanted.”

Clint eyes him, waiting for the ball to drop, “And if I’m not?”

Bucky flexes the dark vibranium arm with mechanical whirs, “I could probably handle a few armed guards on my own.”

Clint smirks, “At your age, grandpa?”

Bucky’s able to smile at that nickname with a little more affection than the others he’s been given.

Clint pushes himself off the chair, standing with a stretch, “Well, I guess if it went south, you could always call the Great Lakes Avengers for help.” He looks down at Bucky with a grin.

Bucky scrunches his face, “Are they seriously calling themselves that now?”

He laughs, “Yeah. So, you better put them on speed dial. Or,” he grins, “You could always grab the new girl.”

Bucky prides himself in the fact that he didn’t flinch.

But the other man must catch the look in his eyes because Clint laughs, “I’m kidding, man.” He pauses, “So, what? You plan on doing the tourist thing here for a few days?”

Bucky leans in the chair, drums a metal hand against the wooden table, his voice distant, “I have no idea.”

Clint slaps a hand down on his right shoulder, “Take a break or something. Think you’ve earned it by this point.”

He heads to the bedroom without even looking at Bucky or his tightly drawn expression.

 _Take a break?_ What the hell did that even mean to Bucky Barnes? He had been on the run for two years. In cryogenic stasis for another two. Technically disappeared for five. And had only been out from the government and S.H.I.E.L.D’s hold for a month and a half. Here he was in a resort hotel on an idyllic island, with nothing and no one to take up his time. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the last real vacation he had experienced before the war. Bits and pieces came through the mush and fog from time to time. When he was hit with certain scents or heard a particular phrase, or even in moments where a sense of déjà vu overcame him - then it would trigger a memory or a sense of familiarity that he would have to piece together and track through.

He remembers Coney Island, forcing a small Steve to get on some terrifying ride. Brighton Beach in the dead of a blistering July with his sisters and mother. Needless to say, it had been a long while since Bucky had experienced anything resembling a _break_.

 

* * *

 

It feels a bit strange to be back out on the job. Considering the past two days. But she does it regardless, finding a sense of completeness as she braces against the strong wind coming from the lake. She’s on the mainland, right by the old point lighthouse, sitting on a weathered picnic table. Her eyes are trained on the party store across the street. This is what she was supposed to do. This was her area of expertise - not a massive gunfight against a group of illegal arms dealers. Just small town petty thieves and wannabe arsonists. Maybe the occasional trafficker or kidnapper, if she heard anything on the state police radio. But it looked like it was gonna be a slow night. Which wasn’t bad, all things considered. She’d rather have this over Avengers-level missions any day. Absolutely. One hundred percent.

She pulls her gaze to the lake. Just beyond the middle of the bridge, a grouping of bright white lights on the water give a stark contrast to the darkness of the night. A freighter has snagged Line 5 with its anchor, again. The leak had been contained, thankfully. But the Roxxon Corps Safety and Containment ships were still out there dealing with the aftermath. Nobody in the area had actively approved of the pipeline going directly under the bridge, in the middle of two giant freshwater lakes. Environmental agencies had been protesting the idea since the beginning. And yet the giant oil industry had won the heart of the governor and now, it seemed, they were always on the brink of a man-made disaster. A spill of any magnitude could damage the fragile system of the area.

Maybe if her brother was still here, he would have made an elaborate plan to infiltrate the local branch of the company. He would have had great plans to shut it down at the source. They would have celebrated their illustrious victory over the business tycoon. They would have done so many things.

She brings her knees to her chest and hugs them tightly. It’s to stay warm against the chill of the night, she tells herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions throughout the chapter:**  
>  **1.** The Great Lakes Avengers are known in Marvel comics for protecting the area around the Great Lakes. They're much lesser known superheroes.  
>  **2.** Line 5 is, unfortunately, a real pipeline. Though it was put in during the 50s. And yes, environmentalists do hate it, because there have been breaks in it. And the whole freshwater habitats and wildlife are greatly endangered by it.


	5. Part 005 | Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **《KIDS IN AMERICA》**
> 
> _Kind hearts don’t make a new story / kind hearts don’t grab any glory / we’re the kids in America_

He spends the first day holed up in the room because he can't actually bring himself to leave. There's nothing wrong with that, of course. A little voice tells him it's safe here; he can stay here and lay low. It's hard to get out of that mindset after all this time. So, he sits at the table, on the couch, on the too soft bed. He goes over each firearm with a Q-tip - every spring and coil is carefully cleaned. There are enough leftovers from the group in the fridge to sate his appetite for the morning and afternoon. A dismal spread of complimentary coffee from the resort to fill his mug.

He stands by the large bay windows in the living area, forcing down a cup, staring at the adjacent island. It's dotted with red and orange and yellow trees. Even though he knows he can't see it, he trains his gaze on the middle of the island. He wonders what her cabin is like. He wonders if she went back there yesterday. That girl's gotta be going through a whirlwind after having them track her down. Even though she had thrown herself into the middle of their mission the other night.

The day passes by slowly and that's okay. There's nothing on the comms from Sam or even Stark. He's already mapped out the freighter docks on the mainland and has a working plan in progress for the night of the next shipment. It seems they have little concern about delivering their cargo right next to the Coast Guard station. Maybe they know something about that: they could have the patrol rosters down or even a person on the inside.

The docks are in a surprisingly residential area too, jutting out on a small peninsula. He won't be the sniper this time. There are no adjacent buildings with a proper line of sight. He'll have to be on the ground doing it the old fashioned way. Maybe Clint won't be back in time. That wouldn't be the worst thing, he could handle it solo pretty easily.

The soft vibrations of his phone buzzing against the table pull his attention from the view. Bucky strides towards it and places the coffee down.

 _Hey, Bucky. Just checking in. How are you doing today?_ The text from Ingrid, the S.H.I.E.L.D appointed therapist, reads.

This was still new territory for him. The texting, yeah. But talking about anything, let alone what he was feeling, with a relative stranger - that was still uncharted territory. How was he supposed to open up about that kind of thing when he felt nothing most days?

He slowly thumbs out a reply. _Fine I guess. Have two days to myself._

Her text comes in rather quickly. _A vacation? That sounds like a good opportunity to do some of the things we talked about._

Yeah, right. Like that was gonna happen. He texts back a simple: _Maybe._

She's probably used to his attitude by now when it comes to these things. Her text is calm and sweet as usual. _It's always worth a try. You know I'm here 24/7 if you need anything. Take some time to reflect and breathe. I'll see you at your next appointment, Bucky._

He flips the phone shut and drops it next to the cold coffee - not that he wanted to drink it anyway. All he wanted to do was throw himself into a mission or research or _anything_ to keep himself busy. During the day, he didn't want to think about things outside of the job he was currently on. Sleep constantly reminded him of the past, he didn't need it drudged up every day if he could help it. Some might say that kind of thinking was counterproductive. Nat would probably make a pointed statement about how much of an idiot he was being. Though, she would be kind about it, in her own way. She knew his past, she knew what decades of nightmares were like. Everyone else didn’t get that. They tell him to take a break like he's deserving of it or even capable of taking one.

It's a full hour later when the ache of hunger in his stomach is pulling him from his thoughts. He had looked through the leftovers again - down to three slices of pizza and a handful of protein bars - and even eyed the room service menu, but the stuff they had were for far more sophisticated palates. His hand hovers over the small pile of protein bars. He gives himself credit for not relenting and just eating one for a meal like he would have done a few years back when he was still on the run.

Bucky recalls a small burger place across from where he and the girl had been standing yesterday. He hesitates to call her Diane, knowing full well what it's like to live by a name not your own. Even now it takes repeated insistence that he isn't the Winter Soldier, or James, or even Mr. Barnes (Peter was the only one calling him that, to be fair). His hand flexes above the coat draped over the back of the chair. With a split moment of indecision, he snatches it up and heads out of the room.

Where the streets had been previously busy with tourists on bikes and carriage rides, as he heads towards the downtown area, only a lone biker passes him on the street. The extravagant houses and manors he passes are expertly decorated for the season. Tasteful decor on the grand porches and sprawling green lawns. Dried corn stalks and hay bales, orange and white banners, large and purposely stacked towers of pumpkins.

With his hands in his pockets, he tugs the coat closer as he walks downhill, past the local marina. The breeze coming off the lake pushes against him with gentle waves. The few boats that are left tied to the dock bob up and down in the water.

Even across the street, the large green park under the old fort is empty. There are no costumed performers up by the canon now. It seems overnight everything on the island had shut down.

Just as he's following the curb of the sidewalk onto the main street, a large procession of workhorses come trotting down it. Three men lead four horses each. Reins in one hand, extending their other out and _whoa_ -ing when they get too far out of line. He stops to watch the large animals and their handlers. One mare walks further out from the group and _whinnies_ at him. The lead quickly pulls her back into line and they make their way right down the main street.

There's a handful of tourists still out and about. Some grab their phones to capture the horses. Most are looking into shop windows, eager to get the best markdown deals.

Bucky walks under the balcony of a hotel on the bay that has little shops and bars tucked in around the entrance on the street level. He peers into one of the shop windows with a hand drawn 75% off sign taped to it. Brightly colored hoodies hang from a suspended shelf and tote bags line the window sill.

He eventually makes his way to the small restaurant. Keeping his head down and his voice soft as he orders his meal. It doesn't take long at all since he's only one of three customers there. The smell of the deep fryer and the aroma from the grill send his mind reeling through foggy memories. Resolving to write them down later, he thanks the man at the counter quietly and grabs his tray.

Bucky ends up sitting at a small table in the back of the establishment, situated in front of the large windows that look out at the bay. The spot is right in between two major ferry line docks. As he eats, he watches the array of people milling about as they wait for their departure. The last of the horses are being loaded into the lower deck of one of the ferries. He wonders if any are kept on the island in the offseason.

When his meal is finished and his stomach feels more content, he continues down the main street. A few of the businesses have already closed up for the year. Standing in front of a storefront with the name _Baxter's_ on the window, he looks down at an antique gold-framed picture of a woman. Smaller frames with the same picture are scattered around the larger one. Coffee mugs, t-shirts, a music box - all with the woman's face. There is a black and white photo of the woman holding hands with a man, staring deeply into each other's eyes. It reminds him of his parents. The picture looks to be the same decade as their old wedding photo. Bucky can remember it had sat upon the mantelpiece in a curved white frame the entire time he had lived there. Pictures of him and his sisters eventually surrounded it. But he only remembers that one photo with stark clarity.

He crosses the street to avoid a large group rushing towards the docks. Walking further down, he stops in the middle of the crosswalk to gaze down the side street. He can just make out the roof of the medical center behind a large house at the end of the block. He can't help but think about that girl again.

The way Tony had obsessively searched for her made him wonder what plans he had made for the future. Bucky didn't think it was as simple as wanting to know who he could rely on in case of another emergency. Did Tony want her on the team or something? It all seemed a bit strange,  having him stay on the island instead of getting a place closer to the mission point on the mainland. Did he want Bucky to keep an eye on her? He didn't exactly keep quiet on when and where the shipment was coming in either. Did he want the girl to show up?

He forces himself to keep walking. At this end of the street, there's barely a sign of tourists. Walking past two large bed and breakfasts on either side of him, he moves to a small open park on the water. A family is flying a kite there. Bucky sits down on a weather-worn picnic table and stares out at the lake. He can see the red and white lighthouse just a mile out. And his mind fixes on her again. Things would probably be a lot easier if Tony involved anyone in his plans. Then maybe he'd know just what the hell Stark expected him to be doing here for the next two days.

 

* * *

 

Admittedly, this wasn't how she usually spent her time off. Finding comfort in the garden or surrounding woods, hunting small game, practicing on the archery targets - those were the common activities. But this? Curled up on the old couch, surrounded by her pack of dogs, watching an old VHS from the eighties with a bag of chocolate covered pretzels in her lap? This was fucking survival mode.

The bloodhound, Angus, with his head on her lap, whimpers in his sleep. He was always the big baby of the group. She smooths a calming hand over the red fur of his back as the music starts to swell.

Jack used to laugh his ass off at the hallway scene. They always wanted to recreate it, had they ever attended public school. He had settled for running through the house, singing at the top of his lungs, _"I wanna be an airborne ranger! I wanna live a life of danger!"_ Even now, she can perfectly picture him sliding over the kitchen table and jumping over the couch. He always thought he was a John Bender or a Ferris Bueller. She thought that wasn't too far off from the truth.

There was a lot to process in her mind. Which is why she was avoiding it completely. Her late-night excursion had resulted in nothing but numbing feelings and distant memories. Everything felt jumbled and wrong. She could pull the confident act off, but only for so long. Then she was here; under a pile of blankets and dogs.

It had been three weeks after dad died, that Jack had set this same thing up. Pulling her close and letting her crumble in a safe space. No one had been there for her when she returned from her five-year disappearance. And as comforting as her dogs were, it definitely wasn't the same.

It had taken four months before she was ready to return to work. And even now, she hadn't fully processed everything through. Then this whole thing with the Avengers happened on top of where she already was. Suddenly, it was too much to handle and she was back to a crumbling mess. She would allow herself two movies, maybe three if things were desperate, then she would need to pull her shit together. Too many people relied on her now. The people in her professional life and the people in her secret line of work.

Shoveling another handful of pretzels into her mouth, she remembers the next shipment. Tony hadn't been hiding that information from her. It makes her wonder, makes her curious if that was intentional or not. She shouldn't care. Shouldn't be worried about something that can be easily handled by two professionals. And yet… part of her wants to catch that opportunity dangling in front of her again.

It wouldn't hurt to just be in the area when it's going down, right? She'll think on it for the next two days. For now, this is where she'll be. Safe and entirely alone - dogs aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions throughout the chapter:**  
>  **1.** The old timey photo of the woman? It's a movie still of Jane Seymour from _Somewhere in Time_. It was a movie in the 80s that was filmed on the island. They're known for it there, people flock to the island because of it - scout out locations from the film and even dress up in 1910s clothing during a weekend at the Grand Hotel (a central spot in the movie). Her and Christopher Reeves (aka. Superman) were the main couple. Very good movie. There is a shop called Baxter's (which is also featured in the film) and they have this window display in tribute to the movie.


	6. Part 006 | End of season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man. This chapter took me a lot longer to get out than I had anticipated. My youngest got vaccinated last week, followed by a few days of rough teething. I was too preoccupied with pain management duties to write out more than a few paragraphs a day. Today, as I was trying to power through the last half of the section, my toddler was using me as a personal diving board while screaming, _"mommy, mommy, mommy!"_ in my ear. By some miracle of the gods, I was able to get this finished up and posted today.

* * *

 

Everyone had their own traditions when it came to the end of the season, typically falling right on the last day of October each year. The seasonal workers would usually do their last hoorah with a bar crawl, leaving the island within the week with massive hangovers and hazy memories of their last few days. The first responders would jump into the freezing lake water to prove who could withstand the frigid temperatures - the victor always got their free meal at the Mustang afterwards - Aaron was the reigning champ, six years in a row now. But everyone at the medical center? They did the much tamer breakfast at the Pancake House. Three people would draw the short straw and stay behind, with the promise of breakfast being brought to them later. The restaurant always managed to stay open long enough to cater to the hospital staff, then they closed down for the season as well. It had been that way since the early nineties before her dad had even moved to the island.

She was expected to be there, especially after returning only six months prior with The Vanished. So, that's how she found her sleep-deprived ass at the long table next to the buffet. Plopped in a chair next to Tanner, who was equally exhausted but only because he had just gotten off his shift for the day. She had done thirds for her residency; never again, if she could help it. Crime-fighting and actual medical work were two different things. She would take the superhero business over just a week of third shift any day.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to live without these pancakes for another _seven_ months," Tanner moans around his fork.

Linda scoffs from across the table, "You could always _learn_ to cook something for yourself."

He shakes his head with a mouthful of chocolate chip and buttermilk goodness, "Not the same! No one makes it like Molly."

She cuts through the Belgian waffles with her fork, trying to enjoy the rare indulgence. The sweet sting of the strawberries and the rich softness of the whipped cream tangle in her mouth. Tanner was right, nobody did it like the old family-owned business.

The lively conversation from the opposite end of the table slowly makes its way down; encompassing the group.

Dr. Morgan points his bacon at Jeff, the phlebotomist, "I'll one up you! Three person collision on the fort because some genius individual thought it would be better for their circulation if they walked down the walkway _backwards._ Try to explain that to the eighty-five-year-old with a broken wrist and fractured hip."

"Didn't we catch her trying to smack him around with her purse later?" The image alone generates an uproarious laugh from the table.

Once the noise dies down slightly, Sara joins in with her own, "Got a more recent one for you. Two teens in with broken arms because they were straining to see the Avengers flying over to Round Island - fell right down the stairs at Arch Rock."

She just about chokes on her waffles.

"No shit," Ben says with a stunned splutter.

Sara nods, "Iron Man and War Machine. Though someone said they saw Captain America heading over there too."

"That doesn't sound like a vacation."

Tanner, finally having had his fill, joins in, "Wonder what the heck they were doing over there. Not like we have an alien invasion going on."

"Not anymore!" Someone says gleefully. The table laughs again, ready for the slow days of the offseason to set in.

The laughs trail off into a comfortable silence, before someone ponders, "There's always the Mirage."

Tanner just about shoots out of his chair, while she tries to maintain the appearance of not having a full-blown internal freakout. "You think they're recruiting her for their team?!" He asks excitedly.

"I hope not! We need someone looking out for us up here."

Linda glances over at her through her thick-rimmed glasses. She tries to take more purposeful bites of her cold meal. The older woman's eyebrows raise as if to say: _you doing okay?_ She gives a short little nod in return.

The saving grace of the beeping Power Rangers communicator sound comes from her purse. Looking for any excuse to keep out of the conversation, she pulls out her phone. She gives an excited squeal. All signs of tension and anxiety leave her body as she holds up her phone.

“We got baby pictures!”

Linda makes a grab for it with a loud _whoop_! “Finally! Let’s see that little cutie - aww!” She holds her hand over her heart and gives a soft sigh before Ben is grabbing the phone from her.

The staff in the NICU had draped a pumpkin bib over Maggie’s little boy, sleeping contently in the uncovered bassinet. She thanked the lord that he was finally breathing room air. All the plugs and wires were gone now, besides the heart monitor attached to his little foot. His cheeks were red and chubby, his nose scrunched in that permanent newborn scowl. A little green and white striped cap was high on his head, exposing the soft brown strands of hair. His parents were probably smitten beyond belief.

An hour later, as the restaurant is closing down for the year, they walk out onto the breezy street. Jeff and Sara holding the styrofoam to-go boxes for the three left at the hospital. Someone’s calling for a commemorative selfie to celebrate the end of the season. Just as she's pulling her scarf tighter, Linda loops her arm around hers.

"How are you holding up?"

She looks down at the touch and gently pulls away, "Fine? Just ready to go home."

Turning towards the camera, everyone gives their best smiles. Three pictures are taken before someone’s muttering about getting back to work and she can already see that Tanner’s ready to pass out on the nearest pile of pumpkins. A few are slowly backing away from the request of another selfie - Jeff takes off in a full sprint, making for a good laugh. As the group starts to disperse, Linda walks along beside her.

They walk further down the main street before she starts becoming persistent, "I mean it. You haven't been yourself since you came back."

She avoids the woman's stare, "Of course not. Bit of a jarring experience finding out you've been dead for five years."

They're almost past the last ferry dock now, their little workgroup is far behind them. Linda places a gentle hand on her arm, forcing her to stop. "You know what I mean, ever since - " She pauses to look up and down the street with a wary eye, "ever since _your brother_."

Once again, she pulls away from the touch, bringing her hands up to cross over her chest protectively - wanting nothing more than to crawl into her safe husk of a shell. "Yeah, it's… I'm fine, really."

Linda looks like she's rearing up for another comment, but she stops short. The gentle breeze tussles her short, tightly-curled gray hair. Taking a steadying breath, "I think you should talk to someone about this."

She huffs an indignant laugh, "Sure, I'll just go lay it down on some therapist. Hash out _all_ of my problems."

The older woman gives her a pointed look. "Well, thank goodness you can't just _zap_ yourself someplace where nobody knows you. Right?"

Feeling deflated, she takes a step back. With her eyes on the ground, she gives a small and childish, "Sorry."

Linda places a gentle hand on her shoulder, "I'm saying it because no one else in your life will."

Since there were just _so_ many people in her life who knew about her powers.

She tilts her head back to focus on the cloudy gray sky above her. Anything to keep the emotions down under the surface. She feels the soft pats of the woman's hand. Taking a moment to gather herself, she looks back at her.

Changing topics, she's asked, "Plan on giving out candy tonight?"

She shakes her head, "You know how it gets on Halloween, think I'll be more useful if I'm out."

The implication is clear. They never stayed on the island for the holiday. It was a time for teenage pranksters and college kids to try and make a name for themselves in their social circle. The island kids were well behaved and had more than enough supervision to keep them contained. Things would get more out of control on the mainland. She would be there. Not at the next shipment point. Not at all.

Linda gives a sad smile, thoughtful, "Your brother didn't either when you were gone."

That sounds about right. She nods her head in acknowledgment, unable to get the words out without feeling the tear gates opening. She's able to keep it together for the interaction.

The older woman finally lets her hand fall to her side. "Well," she says slowly. "Keep the world safe but keep yourself safer." She gives her a tight smile, "I'll see you at work."

She watches the older woman head off down the side street. The breakfast group was already gone. The only person left on the street was a man looking in a storefront window on the other side of the block. She tugs her coat closer, pulls her purse higher on her shoulder, and walks down the sidewalk to the empty house.

Pushing the gate aside, she recalls how the house once looked. Her dad would go all out with decorations. On Halloween, the kids would stay in the workers' village in the middle of the island. But the last Saturday of the month before the holiday, the island held a small parade down the main drag for the kids. The school was the last stop on the route and her dad would always be outside handing out the good full-sized chocolate bars. They couldn't bring themselves to keep the tradition up after he died. Eventually, the parade ended with the shopping district before kids could even get to their house.

Standing in the front yard, she can still see the orange and black streamers. The old blow molds; faded over the years. The giant smiling Jack-o-lantern, the wispy ghost, the scarecrow. They're all sitting in boxes now. Collecting dust.

Once inside the house, she thinks about the night ahead. She knew her brother kept up their little tradition when she was gone. Five years of him doing it solo. This was the first year it was just her. She'd head to Mackinaw City first, then St. Ignace. She wouldn't go down to the docks. She would ignore any sounds of gunfire that came from there. She wouldn't go down there, she was determined on that. Completely. One-hundred percent. Determined.

 

* * *

 

The small motel on the busy street smelled heavily of fish. It was cheap, the rooms were surprisingly clean, it was within walking distance of the docks, but the smell was insane. It was right next to a fish market and any time he stepped out of the room, he was hit with the overwhelming smell of fish. The room itself was decorated with wood paneling and it mostly smelled of must and cleaning products.

It was a massive step down from the resort on the island that Stark had booked. But it was much more his speed. He had taken the six o'clock ferry out to the mainland. This time landing on the other side of the bridge.

He had plopped his duffel bag on the brightly colored and patterned bed. Set up the laptop, going over the last minute details for the area. Clint's ETA was in three hours. He laid out his knives on the second double bed.

Bucky had spent the morning walking around the island. Enjoying the peace and quiet of a tourist-free path. He had circled the whole island, all 1.8 miles of it. The water was sapphire blue in the early light of the sunrise. As he walked away from the residential houses and resorts, soon finding a thick canopy of brightly colored trees to his left and the lake to his right, he found the small beaches rather strange. Instead of the familiar sand, there were small rocks and gravel. Then, further down, stacks of rocks lined the waterfront. Little pyramids of flat gray rocks, precariously balanced on top of large boulders. Soon, the small shoreline was filled with nothing but cairns. There were even stacks further out in the water, surprising to find them still intact.

This part of the island was the most serene. It was so distant from anything resembling the hustle of the tourism district. Stray houses were scattered along the hills, in between deep forests. The natural beauty of the place wasn't lost on him, but he didn't feel like he fit in with the landscape. His scenery was dark rooms, sterile medical tools, and frozen white tundra. And before that, hazy memories of brownstones and alleycats, smog and car horns, loud disputes at two A.M. and sweltering hot summers in tightly packed tenements. This wasn't for him. But he still couldn't knock the beauty of it. The houses in their grand old design almost reminded him of the places along the boardwalk. The whole island seemed to be stuck in an early twentieth-century vibe.

It hadn't taken him long at all to make the loop of the island. And he never ran across another person until he passed the small school. He kept his head down, turned his body to the lake, gave nothing away. He passed the little house on the water, with its overgrown weeds and chipped white siding. Couldn't help his thoughts drifting over to the girl again.

And then, when he was passing the large hotels and shops on the main street, he had spotted her - right by the entrance to the ferry dock. He had found himself staring into a closed shop window, but he could still hear her talking to the older woman - even though their voices were quite hushed, it was one of the few things he could thank the bastard serum running in his veins for. They were talking about her, but openly. The woman knew about her; about her powers. He wondered how many people knew. His eyes followed her as she walked down the street, to her house he bet. What was she planning to do that night? Part of him wanted to run after her and see if she had any intentions of being at the docks. He wanted to make sure she wouldn't be there. Though a part of him was curiously wondering how she would hold up in that kind of situation. But he knew what that would look like to any passerby. Like her friends and neighbors needed to see the Winter Soldier talking to her as if that wouldn't raise a series of questions.

He had forced himself to keep moving. Eventually, buying a premade sandwich from the downtown grocery store, which he had finished eating by the time he had returned to the resort. His bags had been packed for a day now. He had done a simple workout in the living area. Showered. And waited.

The ferry unloaded five people, probably working on the mainland during the day. And he had been the only passenger for the trek back. The lake was dark now, the waves a bit stronger than they had been in the morning. The sunset was magnificent on the horizon. Casting hues of gold and pink across the water and the ferry. By the time they had made it to the marina, the sky was a dark blue and the full moon was climbing higher. Small stars sprinkled the sky.

And now he was here in the dingy motel by a fish market. Waiting.

 

* * *

 

The last of the houses on the residential street had finally turned off their porch light for the night. The gaggle of excited costumed children had returned home with their bags of goodies an hour ago. While the hooded teenagers had made their way out with toilet paper and eggs, a bottle of vodka stolen from their parents' cabinet.

The coffee steaming from his cup was bland and bitter tasting. They never cleaned the damn coffee maker here. It was probably the same damn stuff they were drinking back in ‘85. The machine was heavily stained with spilled drinks and it made the most atrocious noise when it was brewing - something akin to a dying seal that had taken up blowing on a bugle in its last moments. But it was something to rant and rave about in between shipments.

Sipping from the cup as he surveyed the dock, staring up at the steel grey freighter with its faded Roxxon Corps logo. The workers were unloading the pallets with the old beat up fork truck - the damn thing was running only on a prayer at this point. At least the lake was calm tonight and the breeze wasn’t too strong for a change. And better yet, the cleanup on Line 5 was finally done and the stupid fix-it boats and their bright as heck lights were out of the water.

Mark saddles up next to him with the electronic MC40 he can never get to work when he holds it. What was so bad with using a damn pad of paper and a pencil? Did everything have to be so technologically advanced these days? The guy doesn’t even look up at him as he works through his checklist, “How’s it going, Hank? How’s Sal?”

He lowers his cup, “Eh, just happy I got to see the grandkids before I came in.”

“Aw, yeah? It’s always fun at that age. What was it this year?” He shoves the device into his pocket.

He gives a small smile, remembering the eager faces on his doorstep, “Andrew made himself a robot costume, Kenzie was some princess from Disney - all blue and sparkly, Meghan was a shark.” He chuckles, “Eric brought over David, he was a little old man.”

Mark laughs, “God, how old is he now?”

“Six months.”

“Don’t all babies look a little like old guys anyway?” He wipes his brow. “Come on, old man. Think we got some candy in the break room. I’ve already got these guys checked in and the boys are almost done unloading. Trucks should be here at one and four.”

As they head for the building, he bristles as the hair on his neck seems to stand on end, he stops. “You ever get the feeling you’re being watched?”

Mark looks back at him, “Been watching too many Halloween reruns on AMC, huh? Don’t think Mike Myers is out to get you, pal.”

He wants to laugh at his own sense of unnecessary paranoia, turns sharply when he catches something dark and shiny moving in his peripheral, “Did you see that?”

The younger man looks behind him warily for a moment, before awkwardly chuckling, “The hell is in your coffee, man?” He walks toward him, wraps an arm around his shoulders and tries to move him forward, “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

He resists, planting his feet firmly on the pavement. He wrenches himself out of the loose grasp and spins around to the freighter, “What the hell?”

They stare at the empty dock. Kevin is hunched over the wheel of the fork truck, unconscious or dead, god help him. But there’s not a single worker moving or even in the vicinity of the dock now.

He turns to look at Mark.

There’s a sad look on his thin lips, “I’m sorry, man. Wish you would have stayed inside.”

He sees the barrel of a gun and then he’s falling backwards. The bright light of the full moon overhead. The shattering of the old ceramic coffee mug - it had been a gift from Sally. The throbbing pain shooting across the back of his head. His vision blurring. And then darkness.

 

* * *

 

A blinding white arrow shoots across the street, emerging from the darkness, and lands perfectly in the center of the tree. Five heads whip around to look in her direction. She smiles behind the mask, gives a little wave.

“Fuck this, man!” The one with the clown mask takes off running.

Two others back away, dropping the carton of eggs before breaking out in a dead sprint. The remaining two look at each other, trying to puff out their chests. An arrow drags the hat off the left one’s head and lands it in the tree. He screams, books it across the yard and over a fence. The last boy holds up his hands.

“Just a prank, ya know?”

An arrow lands between his feet.

He runs.

Dropping down from the tree branch across the street, she laughs. It was almost ten now. And this was one of the few things she had spotted all night. It wasn’t so bad. This was easy, they were relatively harmless. Definitely more her speed.

The best moment of the night, by far, had been when she appeared on the small residential block. A woman had been running at her, full sprint. She had reached for her bow reflexively, but paused when the woman stopped in front of her with an out of breath, _“You have to meet my daughter!”_ She had quickly apologized for running at her but had merely seen her appear and gotten too excited. Her daughter, McKenna, was six. She was dressed like the Mirage. With a spray-painted PVC pipe quiver and foam arrows.

 _“But watch this!”_ She had said. And then she was blinded by bright white LEDs. The strips ran up and down her legs, arms, and torso. The little girl tapped the button twice. _“Just like you!”_

_Holy shit._

She nodded and gave her two thumbs up, unable to bring herself to actually have anyone hear her voice for the first time. She was even bribed into taking a picture with her, because… how could she _not_? She was the hometown hero. And this? This was just insane.

She had seen another girl, maybe about ten, dressed as her. Not quite as impressive as the little light show McKenna had done, but it was still a good costume. However, it had been the boy next to her that had made her stop. The familiar royal blue and gold finishings of his cloak. The golden mask and quiver. _Apollo._

It should have been expected. Their images had been everywhere for a full decade. The whole area knew what they did and they respected them for it. But it still took away her ability to breathe properly. She ran to a secluded side street before she disappeared, out of sight, to another part of town.

 

* * *

 

It was too quiet. They knew what to expect here. But it was still way too quiet. The gentle waves against the metal dock were barely even making a dent in the atmosphere. Every goddamn instinct was screaming _it’s a trap, it’s a trap, it’s a trap._ He had been across the street at the eerie little playground, watching. And there was nothing: no movement, no sounds of workers, _nothing._

Clint was late. He should wait for him. Make a plan together. He hadn’t even seen a truck pass by for pickup yet. It was still so early.

Bucky makes his move, keeping to the tree line. As he nears closer, he can see through the high chain link fence. The large freighter is docked. There’s only a few pallets unloaded. But they’re unattended. It couldn’t be that easy.

He rushes to the small outbuilding. With a running jump, he grabs the roof and pulls himself up in relative silence. Crouching, his eyes sweep over the entrance. Still nothing. Not even a guard. He slides down the other side of the blue building, feet hitting the fine gravel with a _crunch_. Another sweep, and still nothing is out of place. Striding towards the main building, he throws his back to the siding and peers through a lit window over his shoulder. Fuzzy screen savers bounce across the computer monitors and a cup of coffee sits on the desk. Chairs are pulled away from them haphazardly. He pulls the gun from his back, shouldering it before rounding the corner. His gaze sweeps across the dock, unblinking.

He spots the shattered white mug and small blood splatter on the ground a few yards out. He pushes his back to the building and trains his eyes on the large foreboding freighter. There’s no one on the unlit deck. His gaze drops to the pallets. All regular cargo - a pallet of lumber, a pallet of black tubing, another one with concrete blocks. There has to be more than this.

Sudden movement on the other side of the fence draws his attention.

 _“You started without me,”_ he hears in the comm.

Clint looks slightly out of breath as he takes in the surrounding area.

“I got impatient.”

He hears a breathy huff in reply.

_“Place looks cleared out.”_

“I have a feeling it’s not,” he says tensely.

Clint scales the fence, making it sway and creak. He lands with a solid _thud_ behind a pallet of bagged concrete. Dropping down and out of Bucky’s sight.

Moving behind pallets and heavy machinery, they make their way closer to the ship. A beat-up yellow forklift was abandoned a few feet away, a pallet still on its prongs with plastic-wrapped bags of sand. Clint places a foot on the accommodation ladder, it gives a metallic creak under his weight. He leans fully into it with a gentle bounce. Pulling an arrow out, he looks at Bucky.

"How many?"

Bucky gazes at the freighter, "Fifteen, maybe thirty max."

The archer nods. With a smile, he sighs, "Another day at the office."

Clint heads up the ladder, with Bucky following behind. The archer moves his gaze quickly, shifting from place to place. While he keeps his steady, sweeping across with an unblinking focus. Their footfalls are heavy on the metal ladder as the ascend to the deck. The first bullet whizzes past Clint the minute his head appears over the railing.

"Jesus," he breathes heavily, ducking behind the metal framework. Looking down at Bucky, he huffs, "Three, at least. At eleven, twelve, and three."

Bucky nods in acknowledgment. With his gun tucked under his right shoulder, he jumps up and grabs the railing with his metal hand, flinging himself over and on to the deck. Standing from his landed crouch, he draws his gun back up and aims at the first guard behind the barrels. One down with a scream, clutching his shoulder. The other peers out from the cabin and takes a shot to the femoral shaft. He sweeps the deck and takes aim at the guard peeking out from behind the back of the crane. The first shot clips the side of the heavy machine. A bullet flies past his head, three inches to the right. Another aimed for his chest is easily sidestepped. Striding across the deck with heavy _thud_ s, he gains a better line of sight and takes aim. With another shot ricocheting off his left arm, he fires at the man, who goes down with a startled gasp.

Clint jumps over the rail, walks purposely up to him, eyes searching the upper deck for another assault. Lowering his bow, he shoves against Bucky's vibranium arm - he allows the archer to move him.

"The hell was that, you reckless son of a bitch?" He mutters harshly.

Bucky shrugs his shoulders and lowers his gun down. After a moment to slow his pulsing heartbeat, he stalks off, wordlessly, towards the cargo hold.

He hears the irritated mumbling behind him, _"Oh, nothing, Clint. Just trying to get myself killed, Clint. Being a brooding tough-guy is my schtick, Clint. Just being a suicidal maniac for fun, Clint."_

At the edge of the open cargo hold, he peers down at the wrapped pallets. In the far right corner, four men are diligently moving items off one of the pallets. The minute one of the men spots him crouching on the ledge, the bullets start flying. He moves his way behind a heavy barrel, watching over his shoulder. Clint is a few feet away, behind a pallet.

"You just had to make them angry."

Bucky scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He recalls their positions down in the hold. Calculates the given trajectory and objects directly under the ledge.

Clint looks behind him, a bullet pierces through the plastic wrap on the pallet. He turns towards the soldier. "I'll go up the right, they won't have a clear sight line unless they move. You take the left - "

Bucky pushes away from the barrel and takes a running leap down into the cargo hold.

"Or not!" Clint shouts from above him.

The guards scramble behind the stacked pallets as he crouches down. He can hear Clint running down the side of the hold. Arrows fly down with skilled accuracy. This was easier in his mind: make himself a big target and have Clint pick them off from behind.

With the last guard down, Clint slides down the ladder into the hold. He eyes the guard nearest to him and gives a rough kick to his head to knock him out.

"See therapy's working out for ya. Maybe some team building is in order." His chest heaves with deep breaths.

Bucky rolls his shoulders, chest puffed out slightly, "Shut up, Barton." He strides to where the men had been unloading in the corner.

Clint trails behind him, "We could do trust falls! You trust me, don't 'cha, Buck?"

He stops in front of the torn plastic wrap, mutters to himself, "The hell?"

They crouch and pull the shredded wrap to the side. Among pallets of construction materials, they stare at the heavy black items. Not illegal firearms, like they had been expecting. But large hand-held drills, with a glowing blue light stripped down the sides.

"The fuck are these?" Clint picks one up and immediately drops it with a heavy _thud_ when a bullet clips his left arm.

Bucky turns and takes aim at the guard peering out from a hole in the bulkheads. He drops dead, leaning out of the purposefully cut hidden passageway. Clint slumps over, hand covering the bloody wound.

"That fucking stings. _Jesus_." He pulls his blood-covered palm away and wipes it on the pallet wrap. Bucky eyes him. Clint waves a hand his way, "I'm good, I'm up."

They stalk towards the hole with wary eyes. Bucky shoves the guard inside and to the right and looks down the tight corridor. The slam of a metal door has him stepping through the passage and sliding sideways down the hall. Clint follows behind him. He stops in front of a strange cutout on the exterior bulkhead. There's a small latch. He pushes it open and pokes his head out into the open air. The lake is a few feet beneath him. A trail of bubbles rises to the surface as something moves further away from the ship, something large and fast. He watches it disappear into the dark lake.

At a dead end, they move back to the cargo hold. Clint takes another shot to his forearm.

"Come on, man!" He slides down the bulkhead with a heavy groan.

Bucky hurries past him, stepping over his legs, gun raised as he looks out of the opening. A more precise round brushes past his hair. He pulls back behind the wall, before taking aim at the guard by the pallet. And another further down.

He steps out once the gunfire stops. Along the ledge a group emerges, guns drawn. He tilts his weapon up and shoots. A bullet to the thigh and stomach. Another takes a shoulder hit. Something _pings_ off his left arm. And then a bright white arrow lands in the third guard's sternum. He falters for only a moment, before moving to fire at the last three. Bullets and arrows made of moonlight fly in the cold night air. Once the last guard falls back with a pained groan, he steps out further into the hold. He turns and looks up at the ledge.

"The hell are you doing here?" He calls up.

She shrugs, lowering her bow, "I was in the neighborhood."

Vanishing from the ledge, she reappears in front of him. Shouldering her bow, she pulls her goggles down and around her neck, along with the black mask that covered her nose and mouth. The moon reflects in her eyes. He holsters his gun on his back.

"Should probably thank her!" Clint huffs as he walks out of the passageway.

Her eyes glint playfully. Bucky smirks. She turns and gives a tiny gasp, only audible to his ears.

"You good?"

Clint waves her off, "Nothing I haven't seen before. Get it fixed up when I get back to the motel."

She walks forward after a moment of hesitation, fingerless-gloved hands reaching out. "Let's see it then." He pulls his hand away. She clicks her tongue, "Gonna need stitches."

"I can handle that," He strains with a pinched voice.

She looks back at Bucky, "There's three men unconscious in the office. Some bruising to the head from blunt force trauma, but they'll be fine. Captain's cabin was the same. Think you guys got the main culprits. Though," she trails off, gaze flicking between them, "I did see some underwater sub diving out of here with at least three guys in it."

Bucky nods, "Saw that too. Looks like they were after those," He gestures at the half pallet of industrial drills.

She tilts her head, eyes squinting, "What the hell do they want those for?" She shakes her head after a moment, looks back at Clint. "Stitches."

He groans, "I told you, it's nothing."

With a hand on her hip, she points at him, "If only there was a doctor here. Oh, wait, there is." She points at herself with a grin.

He laughs, "Thought you were an OB?"

She nods, "I am. Which means I'm excellent with doing up stitches."

Clint shudders at the implication. Bucky shifts his weight awkwardly.

Reaching out to the archer, she wraps a hand around his left bicep. "Come on, _Hawkeye_. Let's get you fixed up."

"What the - "

They disappear in a flash of white light.

Bucky stumbles back. Looks around for a moment before holding his hands up in a defeated _what the hell am I supposed to do now_ gesture. Just as he's making for the rusted red ladder, a flash of light appears behind him. He turns. She grabs his arm, thin fingers circling around his right bicep.

"You too, soldier."

A protest is on his lips before he feels like he's being pulled through a vacuum, his body folding in on itself, squeezed through an impossibly tight channel. His vision is blinded by bright white light.

The ship is quiet. The waves lap against the freighter in the moonlight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions throughout the chapter:**  
>  **1.** Most tourists are off the island once summer's over. Some stay for the fall colors and what not. But the main shops and businesses and hotels close their doors come November 1st. People will make their way to the island during the winter months, but the type of tourists that come over won't be experiencing the high traffic and usual haunts.  
>  **2.** _"The brooding tough-guy schtick,"_ is a line pulled from the comic _Tales of Suspense_ #101, where Clint and Bucky team up and he says this exact same line to Buck.
> 
>  **Author's Note:**  
>  Comments are what fuel me to keep writing, especially during moments of writer's block <3


	7. Part 007 | Seven

He stumbles forward as his feet hit the wooden floor, catching himself on a thin table in front of him. Clutching the dark grain surface as he desperately tries to catch his breath. His chest heaves with each ragged inhale.

Soft footsteps fall behind him. “Sorry, didn’t want to just leave you there.” She says as a way of explanation, circling around him.

He realizes that Clint is leaning back on the green and white plaid couch in front of the table, his head tilted back to look up at Bucky. His brow is creased, sweat beading at his temple. “Yeah,” he bites, “fucked me up too.”

Bucky’s finally able to steady himself, carefully pushing off the small accent table to stand and take in his surroundings. She’s disappeared down a hallway, a light illuminates the wooden wall outside of a room. Emerging from the bathroom with her black cloaked tunic off, she’s just wearing a purple long-sleeved undershirt now. She has a black bag in her hand which she sets down on the worn coffee table next to Clint’s feet. And then she’s moving behind Bucky. He watches her walk into the kitchen.

There’s a clink of glass bottles as she opens the white cabinets and then she’s holding up a green and a blue bottle. “I’ve got Tanqueray and Bombay Sapphire. Pick your poison.”

Clint groans, rubs his hand over his face, “Host’s choice.”

She hesitates for a moment, weighing her options, before putting the Tanqueray back. She pulls a tumbler from another cabinet and pours a good amount into it. As she passes by Bucky, she gives him a tight smile, “Make yourself at home. Call your guys. Whatever you need to do.”

She hands the drink over to Clint, who downs it hard and fast, as she preps her things. Sitting down on the coffee table in front of him. As she’s snapping on gloves, Bucky sweeps the room. Behind him, a back door with an unlocked deadbolt. The seafoam green counters and white cabinets above them. A wood stove. Baskets of vegetables and a rack of dried herbs by a small window. There's a snap of a bottle cap from the couch and then the sharp inhale of Clint’s breath. The strong scent of alcohol stings his nose, making him turn away.

It’s probably more sterile than what they would usually do up themselves. He wonders if this is her going into doctor mode or not. She seems more determined, more serious. Which is something considering where they just came from and the fact that two of the Avengers are currently in her house.

Her black bow and quiver are lying on an old kitchen table, with stacks of papers and receipts. The walls are hand-hewn dark wood, slatted with some gray material in between. He wonders if her dad did this all by himself. His gaze moves up to the wooden support beams, cross-hatched across the ceiling.

“Sorry,” she mutters to Clint as she begins the first of the sutures.

The small hallway with two doors, one on either side. The open back staircase with small white lights wrapped along the railing. She must have solar panels out here.

The front door, with three unused locks, and a window next to it. The world is pitch black outside. Probably has an amazing view of the night sky from here, so far from the city and it’s streetlights and neon signs. A stone fireplace takes up the majority of the wall. One by one, hand-carried and placed and built up. On the wood mantle sits small trinkets. A bronze dog statue, three blue candles, a stack of CDs, and in the middle sits a curved white framed picture of two small children.

In the corner, on a compact beige entertainment center, is an old boxed TV with a built-in VCR. The connecting shelves are filled with stacks of old VHS tapes. So many of them are shoved and crammed in to fit, that there are actual piles on the floor.

“See, wasn’t that bad. Now, let me do the other one.”

His eyes fall to the small table in front of him. A black-and-white picture of two teens: a stone-faced boy and a brightly smiling girl with her arm draped over his shoulders. He looks up at her, carefully tying off the first stitch, and then back to the old photo.

The odd clicking above him grabs his attention. As he tilts his head to look up at the ceiling, the sound moves across the floorboards. Slowly at first, then breaking out into a run. As thunderous steps rush down the stairs, it’s only instinctual for him to reach for his gun, but he stops short when the head of a black dog comes into view. The large animal bounds over to her. He expects it to jump on her, but it surprises him by instantly calming and sitting obediently next to her. It’s head held high, it stares him down with the most unnerving look he’s ever received from a creature before. Sharp teeth showing, the dog snarls at him. She gives a quick high-pitched whistle as she finishes up the last of Clint’s stitches, making the dog relax back to a neutral expression. Very protective.

Tying off the suture, she removes the blue nitrile gloves and stands with a stretch, “Need another shot?”

Clint lurches forward, standing with a heavy grunt, “Nah, I’ll go call it in.”

She nods, “Bathroom and spare room are down the hall. Or the porch, if you prefer.”

He gives her a nod, flexes his arm. She moves to the side, to let him pass, as he strides towards the front door. The moment he opens it, a loud clambering sound comes rushing forward.

“Jesus!” He jumps to the side as three large dogs come bounding into the house. They run right up to her, sniffing her out in the group, and do the equally unsettling action of sitting at an obedient attention next to the large black dog.

After a moment, Clint massages his forehead with a heavy hand, “Uhm, I got a lot of questions. But, I gotta make this call first.” As he heads out on to the dark porch, he mumbles, “ _Good lord_.”

The dogs move to the side as she walks towards him. “How about you? Need a drink?”

Not that he could get drunk even if he tried, and boy, did he wish he could right about now. Instead, he shakes his head.

She hums in reply, places her hands on her hips, “What about coffee?”

Musing on it for a moment of consideration, he says, “Coffee would be nice.”

That gains a smile from her, “Can do.” She moves into the kitchen, he turns to watch. Her movements methodical, familiar, as she pulls out three white mugs.

He finally has the clarity of mind to remove his firearms. Putting the safety in place, he sets the rifle on the kitchen table next to her bow. Removing the clip from the unused Glock, he puts the sidearm next to the M249. The room is warm and comfortable compared to the frigid night air they had left behind. It’s hot enough to make him unfasten the collar of his dark blue jacket and tug a few clasps free.

She’s staring, he realizes before he even turns around.

She must notice this by his sudden freeze up, because she quickly murmurs, “Sorry, just… probably should have realized you were the Winter Soldier a lot earlier.”

He turns, looks from her to his arm and gives it a small flex; the metal _whirs_ with the movement. Fanning his fingers out and back in to a fist. The soft light in the kitchen reflects against the black and gold.

“I - I know your trial was aired, like, nonstop these past few months,” he raises his gaze towards her as she continues with a rush. “I just couldn’t watch it. When I got back,” she leans against the gray-speckled countertop, “I was catching up on five years away and it was just way too much. The governments in ruins, the food shortages, the religious rhetoric - it was driving me crazy.”

Three months of his time back from the world of the dead had been spent on a Congressional hearing. Probably thanks to Stark, it was able to go through so quickly. His face was a central figure in the national news segments for a long ass time. Even now, Fox was dragging his name and image around. Help save the world and you’re still just a HYDRA operative to some people.

Not to mention the complete collapse the world had experienced five years ago. Countries were desperately searching down the chain of command for their next president and leader. England had the eighteenth person in line to the throne become the new monarch (Queen Zara definitely managed to turn a few heads). France had a far-right president come into power and that had sparked some major protests for two years before military control became the main form of enforcement. The economy had just about collapsed. But, by the time everyone came back, the world was starting to flourish again. Pollution was down, unemployment was at the lowest possible rate, inflation was down. And then they all came back and there was a second crisis.

The man who had been president in 2018 was suddenly back and wanted to know why the hell he couldn’t continue being president in 2023 if he hadn’t been voted out. Even though two major elections had taken place when he was gone, he was still demanding another vote. People who had a job when they vanished were now replaced by new workers. The guy working in the mailroom you hated? Yeah, he was your boss now. Stores that were making orders and shipments for half the population became incredibly overwhelmed by the sudden increase of consumers. The food shortages were some of the worst. The lines stretched for blocks. It looked like the panicked shopping before a natural disaster. Or the old soup kitchen lines he was more familiar with.

Everyone was happy to have these people back, of course. Well, not some religious groups. Which had determined they were either alien imposters, members of Satan’s army come to challenge God, or part of a government experiment gone wrong.

It had been a hellish few months. Nothing had really been set in stone or properly fixed yet. But it was starting to smooth out finally. And for him? He was finally cleared from the Most Wanted lists and wasn’t labeled as a threat to society anymore. For the most part. Even after they saved the world and brought everyone back, some people still didn’t want a group of superheroes running around - they thought they were just glorified vigilantes.

He nods, “You really didn’t miss much with it.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, “I caught bits and pieces from my coworkers. Still,” she sighs, “Should have figured it out. Bucky Barnes is the name in all the history books. A Bucky mixing with the Avengers? I’d blame it on my level of sleep deprivation for not realizing it sooner, but even then I don’t think it’s a worthy excuse.”

Stretching her arms over her head, he hears an audible crack, and then she’s pulling her hand over her mouth as she yawns.

“With this line of work, you don’t get a lot of sleep.” She tilts her head to the side, “Well, both lines of my work, I should say.” There’s a playful glint above the dark rings of exhaustion in her eyes.

The coffee maker starts pouring the dark roasted brew into the kettle.

His mom always used the old hand grinder. It’d be five in the morning and he’d hear that thing cranking coffee beans downstairs. She always got up early and had it ready for his dad. The smell of it wafted through the apartment. It was so much better than the horseshit they drank in Europe during the war. Nothing he’s had since has been able to compare.

She pours a cup for him and one for herself. Walking over to hand it to him, she asks, “Need anything for it? Milk, sugar?”

With a shake of the head, he takes the bottom of the mug into his right hand, sliding his fingers around the handle once she’s passed it off to him. She walks over to the small fridge, grabs a yellow bottle from it to pour into her own mug.

As he sips on the warm drink, he looks down into the brown eyes of the beagle seated at his feet. Its tail wagging slowly back and forth on the wooden floor. He looks over at the small blue island where the three other dogs are sat, staring up at their owner. He coughs. She pulls away from her thoughts to look over at him.

He sweeps his hand across the room, “You like dogs?”

Her laugh is warm like the coffee, “I have seven.”

He mouths _seven?_ with a sense of stunned wonder. He couldn’t even convince his parents to let him bring in a stray alley cat when he was a kid. Couldn’t imagine the look on his mother’s face if he had brought in seven giant dogs to their old apartment.

“Mhmm,” she nods after taking another sip from her mug.

They’re all different breeds from the looks of it. The beagle at his feet, the black Labrador who had come down the stairs and snarled at him, a red Irish setter, and a black and white pointer. All hunting dogs, he realizes.

And then she says, “I’ve had them since I was a kid.”

He splutters into his coffee. Looking back down at the dogs, he’d guess they were no older than three; at the most. Not a trace of age or a single gray hair speckled through their fur. He raises his brows.

She shrugs, “Got ‘em when I was seven. Or just about to turn seven.”

“ _How_?”

Staring at him like he’d grown a second head, she elaborates, “I wanted a dog for my birthday. I bugged my dad for one and he kept saying no. Didn’t want to have to take care of one and transport dog food over here or whatever.”

He looks over at the Labrador, it’s staring right back at him.

“So, that night before my birthday, I remember wishing for a dog. But then I got greedy, and cause I was turning seven, I wished for _seven_ dogs. Morning comes around and I had seven dogs.”

 _What the actual fuck_.

Her smile is awkwardly held as she shrugs again, “ _Believe me_ , I know how weird that sounds.”

Bucky stares, unblinking, for a long moment. Then he eases out, “I’ve met a talking tree and a genetically enhanced raccoon. In our line of work, this really isn’t at the top of my list for _weird._ ”

Her smile is gentle and smooth.

 

* * *

 

When the archer came back inside, she gave him a cup of coffee as well. Having finished her own a while ago. Bucky had taken a seat in a chair at the messy kitchen table, slowly nursing his own drink; his gaze distant.

"Thanks, by the way," the man says, gesturing to his stitches before holding out a hand, "I'm Clint."

She shook the firm grasp, "Diane."

His eyes squint with amusement, "No it isn't. But," he pulls his hand back with a grin, "I'll just keep throwing names out till I get it right."

Smirking, she crosses her arms over her chest, "Oh, really?"

He nods, determined. Bucky leans back in the kitchen chair, suddenly interested.

"So," he starts, mouth gaping for a minute as he tries to find the right word. " _Anastasia_ \- " his lips curl up, unsatisfied, " - nope, not it." A shake of the head, arms crossed over his chest, "What exactly is your thing? Vanishing archer lady?"

She can't help the flinch that rushes through her, but she pushes on, "Basically that. Grew up hunting with my family, just got really good at it. And," holding her palm up, forcing a gentle white glow to appear, "some lunar powers for good measure."

Bucky sits forward in the chair, eyes trained on her hand. Clint raises his eyebrows; looking impressed.

"You don't turn into some crazy werewolf on the full moon or anything, do you?" he asks quietly as he watches the curl of white light dancing on her palm.

She shakes her head with a laugh, "Yeah, _no_."

"Huh." Clint tilts his head to the side, "So, how exactly did you get this happening?"

She turns suddenly to look at Bucky, the light vanishing as she holds out a hand, "What's in the serum? The one running through your veins?"

He balks, "I, uh - "

She nods, looking back at Clint, "Same. I have no idea." Giving a helpless shrug, "Where he was injected with something, I was just born with it. Normal human parents, zero mutations, no radiation or experimentation - just weird powers."

Bucky clears his throat, voice rough like gravel, "Did your brother have that?"

She pulls back slightly, "Unexplained powers? Yeah. Solar, though."

"Moon and sun? Whose idea was that?"

Another shrug, "Beats me. Sounds like God was just having some fun that day." She gives a small laugh, her look a bit distant, "Always thought it was because I was born at night and he was technically born after midnight. I got the nighttime powers and he got the daytime ones. But, I don't know."

Clint hums and Bucky relaxes back into his chair, finding his cup of coffee very interesting to settle his attention on. Clint looks around for a moment before focusing back on her.

“So, it’s not just arrows?”

She shakes her head, “Those are new. Been crafting it for a few weeks. Mostly, it’s just kind of a light show.”

With a crack of her knuckles, she rolls her hands together - as if she were molding a ball of clay. The gentle glow of white light emitting from her grasp, rounding it out into a small sphere. She lets the globe roll over the tips of her fingers and down her right arm. Popping it off her shoulder to catch it once more in her hand. She let’s it spin on her finger, smiling at the chance to really show off her powers for the first time in a long while.

And then she’s pulling it back into the palm of her hands, crushing it down into a flat beam. With her right hand extended back, she chucks it across the room with shocking accuracy. Their heads whip to follow its path, watching the dagger land in the center of the front door.

“ _Huh_.” Clint turns fully to stare at it.

Leaning back against the island with a confident smile, “Go ahead. Touch it.”

He looks back at her for a second, before shrugging his shoulders. Walking towards the door, Clint extends his hand. It looks exactly like a regular throwing knife, edges and minute details visible through the glowing monochromatic light. With his fingers brushing against the butt of the handle, it starts to dissipate, breaking off in small flecks of light before vanishing entirely.

Clint looks back over his shoulder, voice soft, “It’s cold.”

She nods, crossing her arms, “Yeah, I hear the moon is pretty cold in comparison.” Looking over at Bucky with a small smile, she adds, “Jack’s was hot to the touch. Less white, more golden.”

He gives her a nod, looking equally astounded as Clint - who’s still staring at the mark left in the door, fingers tracing over the chip.

Pushing off from the island, she steadies herself, “Well, I’m sure you need to get back. But, before I drag you two over to the mainland, can I at least offer you breakfast or something?” She smirks at Bucky, “That is, if you two eat that sort of thing?”

 


	8. Part 008 | Cabin Life

At four in the morning, she makes them pancakes. Scooping mix from a large striped canister on the speckled countertop, sizzling butter in a cast iron pan on the wood-burning stove in the corner of the kitchen. Clint, with his feet kicked up on the armrest of the couch and a hand splayed over his face, snores away. Bucky leans on the island, watching her move about. It reminds him of his own mother. A green dress and white apron, flitting between rationed food. Patting his cheeks affectionately before he would head out the door each day. Her kitchen has touches of outdated decor, causing something to pull at the deeply seated memories.

On the wall opposite the stove, a dark wood shelf holds jars and quarts of canned food. So self-sufficient out here, but being on her own he isn’t too surprised. The beagle, which she had called _Max_ , is still hanging out by his feet. _He's the main beggar when it comes to food and attention_ , she had said with a bright smile that wrinkled up her laugh lines. The dog occasionally peeked around the corner to check on her but seemed content with where he was. The other two had meandered into the living area by the fireplace. However, the Labrador, which seems to be the lead, remains right by her and _stares_ Bucky down.

Adding a seventh pancake to the stack, she pours more batter down into the skillet as well as a small glob of butter. Her shoulders drop, feet bouncing on the floorboards, then she’s turning around with a bashful smile.

“Don’t usually get company over here, especially not, _you know_ ,” her hand gestures over at him and the sleeping Barton. “First time for everything, I guess.” Gripping onto the edge of the island, she rocks herself back and forth.

Giving a small nod, his gaze focuses back on the unnerving stare from the dog. “They eat?”

“Huh?” She follows his gaze behind her, laughing gently, “Yeah, they definitely eat. I, uhm, I grab bags from a store on the mainland and just zap over here. Doesn’t raise any questions. They don’t know me over there, only on the islands.”

He hums. And then another question hits him, “What about your dad?” Her eyes widen at the mention. “How’d he get over?”

“Uhm,” She startles at the smell of a pancake starting to burn. Quickly turning back to flip it over, her shoulders hunched - every bit of her posture tense. When she finally replies, it’s into the crook of her shoulder, barely looking over at him, “There’s a tunnel - sorry, just a second.”

Bucky waits for her to slide the especially crispy pancake onto the plate and the skillet off the stove. Turning back towards him, she extends a hand out, beckoning him forward. Another hand on the knob of the door behind her, the Labrador moves to the side. It gives a small _creak_ when she opens it, walking out into the dark morning light - the faintest bit of purple starting to stretch over the skyline. Stepping out onto the small wooden steps, he gazes up at the smoke billowing into a curved shield - it gives off just a faint blue zap when it grows too close. Then he notices the gentle white glow illuminating from her hand.

Tossing the orb into the air, the light scatters - hovering just above the ground - creating a tiny trail of lights. She follows the path along the back of the house and he follows her. Standing in front of a root cellar, she pulls one of the doors to the side. And then she’s tossing a ray of light down into the darkness.

“Not a secret torture chamber, promise.” Her lips are tight with the attempted joke.

She heads down first. The walls are lined with shelves of more canned food. Baskets of potatoes and crates of apples. A chest freezer against the far wall. And next to that, a small wooden door. Opening it, she moves to the side, gesturing for Bucky to look into the small space. Poking his head around the doorframe, he looks down at what appears to be a manhole cover.

“Ladder down to the tunnel. Comes up in the closet at the decoy house on the island. It's a two-mile walk.”

He turns his attention to her, pulling back into the main cellar, “How?”

Shrugging, she rubs at her elbow, “Another question I don’t have an answer to. My dad, he - “ She falters for a moment, choosing her next words carefully. “He… he never told us how he did this stuff, just _why_. I don’t know what connections he had to do this and I kinda don’t care.”

It definitely raises a lot of questions in his mind. Being protective of your children, he can understand - especially when they have some crazy powers going on. But the amount of money and effort it would take to build a tunnel that long under the lake? And to make it safe and withstanding of weather and ships? That seemed far out of the reach of a simple island doctor. Not to mention the advanced cloaking shield. Where was the money? Where were the workers? It sounded easily like a HYDRA string, but he knew Stark did a lot of work in the security sector as well.

“He just wanted us safe from them.”

His gaze draws tight, “Who?”

Another small shrug, “He just called it a serpent. With those leaks a few years back, I’m pretty sure he meant HYDRA though.”

He can’t help the slight hitch in his breath, “Why you?”

Her eyes are steel, hardened by years of shaping from her father, “What we can do is special, beyond anyone’s understanding. They want it, and they want to use it.”

“For what?”

She shakes her head, fingers digging into her thigh, “I don’t know. But he seemed pretty adamant about it growing up. Didn’t ask questions when it came to that.”

Bucky wants to push her for more information, but then he can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. His look is pained when he sees the ID on the screen, but he answers it anyway.

"Yeah?"

 _"Oh, don't mind me, just wondering where the_ **_hell_ ** _you two are."_

Tony looks agitated, moving away from the screen to work on something out of Bucky's line of sight.

_"And does Barton have his aids off or something? Because I'd much rather be having this conversation with him."_

Bucky shakes his head, giving a low exhale to steel himself, "What'd you want, Tony?"

Tony rolls back to sit in front of his phone, _"Jesus, Grandpa. Hold your phone so I can actually see you."_

Bucky lifts his arm higher, brow quirked with frustration. He chances a look over at her beyond his phone. She's gazing down at her feet, trying not to impose on the call.

 _"Clint mentioned an underwater getaway sub? You didn't feel like chasing it or…?"_ Tony smirks. Bucky wants to throw his phone on the concrete floor. Tony squints, _"Okay, seriously. Where are you? Turn on a light or something."_

A glowing sphere is tossed next to his head, out of sight from Tony. She gives a little shrug and a small smile. Gesturing towards the stairs, she signals that she's going to head back up. He gives her a nod, watches her climb up the steps and out of sight.

"Did you find anything?" He ignores the previous question entirely.

 _"Uhm,_ **_yeah_ ** _."_ He hears the rustling of a wrapper as Tony shoves a piece of candy into his mouth. _"Have some radars showing something moving under the bridge. Looks like it's still just hanging out down there right now."_ Looking up from the images on his desk, _"Said there were hand drills?"_

"Industrial, high-tech, unmarked."

Tony tuts, head cocked up in thought. _"Well, I doubt they plan to topple the bridge. Maybe you should check in with our local resident hero and see what she knows. She's probably around_ **_somewhere_ ** _."_

Bucky groans at the realization that Stark probably has their signals right now.

 _"Would really help if you could breathe underwater._ **_But_ ** _, I guess I'll see what I can't send your way to check it out. I'll dig around here. Tell Merida I said_ hi _."_

And then the call is disconnected.

Dropping his hand, he lets out a long calming breath. Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he heads up the stairs. The light fades from behind him. The sky is lightening up now, a hazy pink and yellow as the sun starts to rise. Bucky takes in the surrounding area. The wooden house is in a small clearing, a heavy forest beyond the curved cloaking shield. Raised garden beds by a blue shed that's paint is chipping.

He heads back inside, savoring the warmth and pleasant smell of food. There's a plate waiting for him on the island. An unlabeled pint of real syrup next to it.

Swallowing her own mouthful, she says, "I can get you guys somewhere discreet whenever you're ready to go. I know a few places over in St. Ignace that are out of sight."

He nods, carefully cutting the stack of pancakes. "What's under the bridge?"

She tilts her head, "You mean under the Mac? Besides _water_ , I'm assuming is what you meant?" She smirks, then stabs another bit of food with her fork, "Just a pipeline. Runs directly under the bridge, connects the two peninsulas. Why?"

 

* * *

 

She had gone out to feed the dogs a few hours later when Clint had finally woken from his stupor. It was easy enough to fill him in on the short call from Stark and the few pieces of information that she was able to give him.

 _“I don’t know why they’d want to drill on it. Freighters just hit it all the time. So, it’s clearly not an oil spill they’re looking for,”_ she had mused to him.

Clint drums his fingers on the table, feet kicked up on a chair, “Are we sure it’s related? I mean, that the drills are for damaging the pipeline? Could be transporting or working around it for something.”

Bucky acknowledges him with a slight dip of his head, before adding, "Hard to say if the pipeline's even related to it."

Clint nods, "Could just be a docking point, right?"

The door _creaks_ as she steps back inside. She unzips her coat and pulls off her beanie and fingerless gloves. The same gloves she had been wearing the night before on the freighter.

"You guys want to head back yet or - "

The phone on the kitchen table starts vibrating.

Clint slides his finger across the screen to accept the call. Before he even has the chance to answer it, Tony's already speaking over him.

_"Put Katniss on."_

Clint raises his brow with a curious head tilt before handing her the phone. She looks between the two men before holding it up to look at Tony Stark.

"Hey," she mumbles.

_"You're the local girl. How do you access the bridge towers?"_

She blinks rapidly, "Uhm, what - "

_"The big bridge, two towers, five miles of suspension, man-made marvel. How do you get inside them?"_

She straightens considerably, gaze sharpened. "If you don't mind being seen, there's access right along the sidewalk."

He crosses his arms. An amused smile playing at the corner of his lips. _"And if I don't want to be seen?"_

With a shake of her head, "Sorry for repeating, but _why_?"

He sighs, rolling away in his desk chair, his voice a little more distant, _"_ **_Because_ ** _, I have shots of this thing."_

Bucky looks over at Clint. The other man shrugs.

 _"Sent out an old suit, doesn't matter. What does - "_ Tony rolls back into view with a laptop held up to the camera. _"This bad boy is nasty. And it's parked right at the base of the north tower."_

The image zooms in on a small tunnel between the dark sub and the column of a tower. And then it's moved away as Tony is brought back in focus.

_"Zero security up top, which means - "_

"It's all down below," Clint adds thoughtfully.

Tony nods, _"Something's happening under your bridge and I'm not sure it's just a pipeline. Which looks fine, by the way. Environmental hazard, but structurally fine."_

"What exactly do you want us to do here, Tony?" Bucky steps forward with a gruff tone.

Tony runs his temple, _"Well, ice pop, I was thinking you could do something useful - like, investigate it."_

"There's a way - " She interrupts. They all turn towards her. Puffing out her chest, her voice trembling slightly, "There's a way into the tower that's out of sight. But you're gonna need me to do it." Her gaze falls to Bucky, then to Clint. The fear in her eyes is obvious. "Either one of you scared of heights or tight spaces?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions throughout the chapter:**  
>  **1.** Some nicknames for the Mackinac Bridge include: the Mighty Mac, the Big Mac, and simply the Mac.


	9. Part 009 | It actually gets worse the further we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter seriously took a lot to power through. Hopefully, I can knock out part ten with a little more ease than this one.

There was a terrifying, heart-stopping moment after she dropped the two men off in the middle of the woods surrounding the state park. A lingering sense of unease following her all the way back to the cabin as she watched their figures warp and twist as she vanished in a flash of light, sucked through a tunnel, and deposited on the old braided living room rug. Her hand still extended out for a small wave, her lips drawn tight with a _see you soon_ still lingering on the tip of her tongue. Maybe this wasn’t the path she was meant to follow. She appeared in their lives in a sudden moment of absolute unchecked recklessness and they followed after her. And now she wasn’t sure if they would ever stop. Or if she truly wanted this life anymore. The chest-aching fear she felt as she stood in the empty room of her empty house. Plates and coffee mugs left abandoned on the blue island - as if the house had always held life and in one horrific second everyone disappeared. Just like the Decimation, right? She can’t help but wonder if that’s what Jack felt. How long he might have searched for her before realizing she was truly gone.

The house looked like it had weathered a great storm when she came back in the Blip. A destroyed chaotic explosion, dust-covered and untouched for some immeasurable amount of time. It took four months to clean it all up into a regular sense of normalized living once again. Stacks of newspapers and theories and conspiracies of where everyone went and how to get them back littered the kitchen - like his own detective board, but with less organization. Through the mess, she saw his mind fraying at the seams. Frantic and alone and _desperate_. She wonders how reckless he became after she vanished. The only one who could tether him to the ground he so desperately wanted to fly from.

She did her own research. Only a few articles and shaky vertical cellphone videos spotted him after the act. The world too preoccupied with the tragedy and breakdown of normalcy to focus on a small-time superhero. He donned an all-black ensemble. A video in October of 2019 showed him hovering by the south tower of the Bridge, eyes and hands glowing a terrifying gold. Shooting beams of pure energy at something or someone out of frame. She doesn’t know how he achieved that, what terrible thing occurred to excel his powers to that level of intensity. But it’s nothing she herself could manage, not even now. How twisted had his mind become before he died? Another question in the piling stack of her life that she would never know the answer to.

Linda had told her, after she came back on that terrible day in April, how they had found his body on the shoreline of the mainland right at the start of December. Implied suicide, which so many people were experiencing within those first few months - the heaviness of grief and loss chipping away at normal people who had nothing left to lose; nothing left to live for. She doesn’t want to think of how badly he might have suffered after she vanished. The loss of their father was hard enough to deal with together, but to lose his only remaining family in an instant of crumbling dust? At least they hadn't been together when it happened, she doesn't know what he would have done then; how much worse it would have been. He had bolted the tunnel shut so Linda couldn’t even check in on him. He just disappeared from the lives of their friends and neighbors.

And here she was, back to life, picking up the pieces. How strange it was to have anyone in the house, let alone people like her. It was almost sacrilege for them to be in her space. She’d be lying to the world if she said she hadn’t enjoyed it though. People in the small room once again, talking and smiling and nonjudgmental. She craved for it to manifest around her one more time as she piled up the syrup sticky plates and forks and stained mugs still smelling like the strong scent of fresh coffee. Rinsing and scrubbing them in the sink, with Ryder by her side, she longed for another person in the room. Standing behind her, laughing over a ridiculous article about them in the paper. Trying to tickle her sides with a gentle zap of golden energy. Pulling her soap-coated hands away with a boyish smirk in an effort to get her to dance along to the playlist he insisted they listen to each day.

But the only noise is the soft _clinks_ of metal utensils on plates and the gentle scrubbing and sloshing of water. Looking over her shoulder, she can almost picture the dark brooding gaze of the Winter Soldier at her kitchen table and the low voice of the archer on the couch. 

Maybe she had been foolish to bring them back here, surely Clint could have stitched himself up like he had said he could. But she seemed to be doing a lot of foolish things these days. Reckless, some might say. Spiraling down in a tornado of chaos of her own doing. Jack crossing his arms and giving her a disapproving look just like their father used to. _Don’t do what I did_ echoing from the projected dream across the room. He would shake his head and then cross the floor to ruffle her hair because she always hated when he did that.

But it was settled for her. After this little mission, she was done. She would vanish once again if necessary. But she was getting herself out while she still could. While her head was still on straight.

 

* * *

 

They managed a short burst of sleep after they arrived back at the motel that smelled like the neighboring fish market. It had taken some time for the coffee to wear off and the excitement of the night to fade away. That girl’s gentle smile and the secrets hidden in the turbulent waves of her tired eyes followed him for hours before he was able to truly sleep. But it was never that easy for Bucky.

Sweat soaked, heart racing, like always. Running down a darkened corridor of locked doors, seeking a place to hide with animalistic fear seeping through his veins. Breathless, chest heaving, feet slipping on tiled floors that endlessly curved. Trying to escape them - _them, them, them_ . They were coming and he had to _hide_ . With a panic, he helplessly tried every door. There was a way out, there had to be a way out. One finally gives way and swings open, dragging him with it, throwing him down into the dark pit. Cold, wet, blood-covered, hands - so long and unnaturally skeletal - encompassing him, pulling him down, down, _down._ Eyes blown wide, sticky clothes, and the smell of rotting. _No, no, no, no, no._ He evaded them but found a new group, far more terrifying, that wanted him dead. Soulless eyes and gaunt features, tattered clothes, and bullet holes and open cuts and gashes. They want him, they want to return the pain and torment. They know him, know his secrets. Desperate screams unable to claw their way out of his throat. Suffocating on his own voice as a hand wraps tightly around his neck. Hands pulling at the immovable arm, tearing decaying flesh, screams ring out around him, drowning everything with blood and guts and rotting black metallic darkness rusting death -

Bucky’s eyes flash open with a sharp gasping inhale. Sheets soaked through with sweat cling to his body with a disgusting coolness. Bringing a desperate hand up to his own throat to assess the damage before rubbing tiredly at his forehead as the dream world starts to fade. Techniques, he needs to focus on his breathing. It’ll help. Or that’s what they keep telling him. Inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Heartbeat slowing, fear dissipating, anxiety ebbing away like waves on the lakeshore.

After a long moment, Bucky’s able to shuffle onto his side and away from the wet spot on the bed. Rolling onto another pillow, he spots the rays of daylight creeping in under the doorway. Clint’s boots are gone from in front of the heat register. _Good_. Like he needed anyone seeing the comedown. It was hard enough sharing a room with Sam for the past week and a half.

Black vibranium curled into a fist on the pillow, obscuring his view. A warm hand beneath it, anchoring him to this moment. Gentle breathing as his mind focuses on the sensations. Toes wiggle against crisp white sheets. Strands of hair tickling his neck. Skin sticky with cold sweat. Musty carpet and the hitch and groan of the old heater. He won’t be able to go back to sleep. He never can after something like that.

It takes time, maybe an hour, before he’s up and moving. Dream shoved far behind him, mission ahead. The heavy blackout curtains are pushed to the side. The world outside is slowing down as the afternoon wears on. Skies gray and rain gentle on the parking lot. Cold wet puddles scattered across a near-empty road as a sprinkling of cars whiz by in a bleary haze. The shower helps; the hotter the better. It scalds his skin and makes him forget. It washes away the worries and fears down the drain with imaginary blood splatter and decaying flesh. And for the moment, he can pretend everything is fine. He can wrap a towel around his waist and run another through his hair and ignore the screams echoing around in his head. Wiping steam from the mirror and making wet footprints on the gaudy muted green carpet.

Clint returns just as Bucky finishes pulling his sweater on, a box of something sweet-smelling in his hand. A large bite of it in his mouth and a tiny morsel leftover in his other hand. Shoving the door closed with a rough kick as he shuffles into the motel room.

"You gotta try this," he says around the food, setting the box down on the small table by the dresser, as way of greeting.

Bucky raises his eyebrows as he saunters over, curiosity getting the better of him.

"I probably spent close to a hundred - an hour, maybe - watching them make this stuff. They just drop it down on marble tables and, like, fling it with these long metal spatulas? And it makes a perfect log. And it's so fucking good, man. Just - " he opens the box, instantly reaching for another handful of whatever it is that he bought.

Bucky peers down at the rounded cuts of fudge, mostly chocolate by the looks of it. The smell is overwhelmingly sweet. His mouth waters.

"It was driving me crazy on the island but I never got the chance to, you know? Downtown, they have like a second location by the ferry docks. Man, this shit is good. Totally worth the money."

He can differentiate the various flavors in the large selection. Simple chocolate, a peanut butter mix, vanilla, chocolate mint, something cherry, pumpkin, peppermint. A hesitant hand reaches for a slice of milk chocolate. And then a careful, calculated bite has him holding back a satisfied moan.

Plopping down on the bed closest to the bathroom, Clint toes off his wet boots. “Probably not the best pre-mission meal, but here we are,” he gestures with a grin.

Another sinful bite, the chocolate melting in his mouth, sweet and rich. Coating his senses with a comforting flavor that blocks out the metallic smell of blood and the immovable hands that ghost around his throat.

They have maybe four hours before they need to head out? More than enough time to clean up his firearms and knives. It was simple enough, according to her. Completely reliant _on_ her as well. Which they had discussed upon arriving back at the motel. Clint had been heavily skeptical of Tony's intentions almost immediately.

 _“You’re telling me, Mr. Brains doesn’t have the semantics and blueprints already up in front of him? He_ **_wants_ ** _her in on this.”_

Tony’s words echoing around in his head: he doesn’t like mysteries. And if she wasn’t one of the bigger ones they’ve encountered in the past six months, then he wasn’t sure what was. Strange powers channeled from the moon. No backstory or genetic variants to explain it. And the fucking _dogs_ . God, he didn’t say it to her face, but _what the hell_? Then there was her dad and how the hell did he manage to have that tunnel constructed and apparently her brother had crazy powers going on as well? And because of all that, Tony was interested - apparently wanting her on the team?

Was this supposed to be her first test then? Throwing the kid in the middle of their mission to see how well she could handle herself? He says kid, but she’s probably in her mid-twenties. Slip of the tongue for someone technically over one hundred. And her whole attitude was something interesting in itself. Nervous around them, but like Clint said - who wouldn’t be? Then a confident and authoritative presence when she was stitching up the archer’s wounds. Cocky and self-assured on the freighter. Maybe Tony wasn’t the only one intrigued by her after all.

 

* * *

 

The plan, in itself, was pretty simple. The fear factor would be the heights, of course. That was just something she was never capable of overcoming, no matter how many times Jack had pushed for it. Humans were created without wings for a reason, and even though he could fly, she was much happier to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much. Even going up to Arch Rock was enough to get her stomach turning - which her brother took great pleasure in, of course.

There was the second part, as well. The necessary collection from Tony. Which he hadn’t mentioned in the call when the men were still in the house with her. His reason for that never being given, actually. The call had arrived three hours later when she was attempting to sleep.

_“So, here’s the thing, kid. I could send you down with the angst twins and really throw you into something you might not be ready for, or we could use the opportunity to monitor these guys and see what’s going down.”_

Standing from the couch, eyes heavy with exhaustion, she asks with a frustrated groan, sleep still sticking to her tongue with dry smacks, “And you want us to do _what_ exactly?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, looking eagerly excited at whatever is brewing around in his mind. _“Zap yourself over here and I’ll show you exactly what I was thinking.”_

The eye-roll wasn’t even capable of being stopped. She walks into the kitchen, looking out the back door at the late morning light falling over the tree line. “I can’t just go anywhere, you know?”

Tony crosses his arms, looking thoroughly interested, _“No, I don’t know. But I’d like to.”_

A tired hand rubs her temples as she fumbles the phone in her grip. Pacing across the wooden floor to sit at the table. Exhausted beyond her usual limits, she forces herself to focus. Voice emotionless and calculated, “Show me the room.”

A quirk of his eyebrows is the only response before he backs out of frame and she's given a panoramic view of his lab. Light concrete walls, floor-to-ceiling windows above them, a large workbench, a wall of older suits behind a glass case.

“Okay, that should do it.” And then she ends the call without giving Tony a chance to reply.

Standing from the kitchen table with a yawn, neck cracking with a good stretch, she pictures the room. The exact layout in her mind’s eye. Somewhere between the desk and the wall of Iron Man suits would do. Bouncing on her toes, hands drawn in towards her stomach with a slow glow. Concrete walls, white workbench, black floors, windows, bright lights, tools, suits, computers. Stretching her arms out with a sudden burst, she’s enveloped in white light before she disappears completely.

 

* * *

 

They meet at the bottom of the stairs of the state park. Down a series of worn steps that lead to the beach. Boots sink into the wet sand as the night sky blankets them. She’s staring up at the Bridge, only a few yards away. Green cables all lit up in the dark night with bright dots extending down into the distance of the lower peninsula. Strong gusts of wind nip and prick at his face, like glass shards scraping against his cheeks. The waves lap against the pebbled shore. Her goggles are down and around her neck. The bow and quiver nowhere in sight, just like she had said they would be. Bucky follows her gaze up to the top of the tower.

She doesn’t acknowledge their presence with a look. “Over five hundred feet,” her voice cuts through with a nervous whimper and a cool puff of air.

He catches the slight tremor in her hand, the anxious energy radiating off her.

Clint’s brasher with it, his snort making small clouds of ice crystals form in the air before vanishing into the night. “Not good with heights?” His voice barely holding back his amusement. Sharp eyes trained on her, a hand idly resting on his bow.

A shake of the head, voice soft and distant, “More my brother’s forte.”

Finally turning to look at them with wide eyes, she shoves her hands into her pockets for lack of a better place to wring them. Gesturing to Bucky with a tip of the head, “You good? I’m gonna need a full lock once we’re up there.”

The vibranium _whirs_ as the plates shift, balling his hand into a fist with a gentle flex, “Think we’ll be okay.”

She nods, throat bobbing with a gulp of heavy nerves. They had already discussed the finer details, it was just a matter of setting the ball in motion now. Clint would remain on the shore, watching the lake and scanning until they made it down to the street level. Then she would bring him into the main cell without raising suspicion. Bucky would go with her and act as a human tether system as they made their way across the walkway.

Turning back to look at the bridge, at the tower rising up into the night sky, her feet kick the rough ground with a frustrated groan. “Fuck my life,” she mutters. With a deep breath, she pivots back to them, hand extended out towards his right forearm, “Ease up, Soldier.”

She hesitates for only a quick moment before her hand makes contact with a cool glow, light surrounding them. And with a flash, he’s pulled through that warped tunnel with twisting and squeezing with the air being kicked right out of him. And then the wind is blowing on his face with stronger gusts and he’s reaching out for the railing to steady himself and her. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat as she squeaks. Gripping onto his bicep with both hands in a sudden terror. He can barely hear her panicked mantra over the howl of the wind. His hair whips around his face with a violent rush. It's hard to keep his eyes open against the onslaught of Mother Nature.

The flash of her powers easily blended in with the giant white light at the top of the tower. To any motorist down below, it would look like a simple twinkle in the night. Just like they had planned.

Squeezing down around the white rail with his left hand, he straightens himself, finally taking in the view. And his breath catches a second time. He can make out the city of St. Ignace, and even further out, the islands. Specks of light on the horizon, shining above the dark water. Lake and sky meeting somewhere in the middle of the cold November night air.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she huffs, holding on to him like he’s the only thing tethering her down. The hood of her tunic blown back by the strong wind, hair billowing out behind her.

Cars rush past beneath them, zipping by with a low rumble. When he takes her in, she looks about ready to heave all over the stairs. He won't let her go, her own fear keeping her tethered to him with an unusually strong hold. Bucky tries to distract her from the growing anxiety and focus back to the task at hand, his voice raised, “Where’s the entrance?”

It takes her a moment to steady herself, blown-wide eyes meeting his as her breathing eases out with a stutter, “Middle of the tower.”

He spots it, the small beige dome cover. Giving a gentle push her way, she takes a nervous hand to the railing of the stairs. One foot, slowly followed by the other, as she makes her way down the five steps. Such a simple task impeded by the wind and lack of ground beneath them. The fear of a strong gust throwing them right over the edge keeping the movement to a snail’s pace. A hand still circled around his arm for support. But he does get her moving. Easing out onto the main walkway, like a gangplank in the sky. Her right-hand gliding steady along the railing, left hand a vice grip on his arm.

Heights don't bother him. Involuntary falling does. He'd survive it, of course. But glancing over the edge, the wind whipping and cutting past him, down to the metal grates and pavement 552 feet below them - it stirs up a sense of unease in his stomach. Steve's voice ringing in his head, cold hands desperately holding on to the rail as it gives way.

She drops down next to him, fingers digging into the diamond-shaped grates of the walkway, and he almost loses it at the feeling of her hand slipping away from his arm - thinking she's fallen. But she hasn't. Crouching down on his toes with nothing to hold onto or tether him down. Metal fingers pull at the round lid, plates shifting with exertion as he tugs on the steel cover. It gives way with a heavy rusted _creak_. Her head drops down with relief.

The wind blows over their bodies, whipping and groaning in their ears and against their faces. Bucky allows her the courtesy of holding on to his arm once again as she throws a ball of glowing white light down into the cell. A metal rung ladder illuminated under the small hole.

Shuffling along on her knees and stomach until she's able to drop her feet down into the tunnel, she climbs down first. Looking heavily relieved to get away from the sight of the lake and cars driving so far underneath them.

Following her down into the dim entrance with his eyes, Bucky watches her pull off to the side, hands wringing nervously as she waits. Drawing his legs over the ledge, he pushes down, pulling the cover back over him as he descends the worn ladder. Boots hitting the steel floor with a heavy _clunk_ as he hops down.

With wind burnt cheeks and heaving chests, they take a quick moment to catch their breaths. He takes the chance to tie his hair back and away from his face. She smooths her own back down and under her hood.

There's barely room for two in the hollow cell. He wouldn't be able to stand with both of his arms extended out, maybe his elbows if he was generous. Standing only a foot and a half above Bucky's head is the ceiling. Steel and paint and rust sharp in his nose. It's familiar in the worst way. But he's not trapped here, not this time.

A glowing hand raises up to the small door frame. Etched into the cell wall a rough _This Way!_ is written.

"Path is marked to the elevator, then we're on our own."

He nods in acknowledgment as she crouches through the small doorway. Bucky has to shuffle through sideways to fit. Into another cell of the tower and down a ladder. The gentle glow of light leading the way along with the etched markings and arrows. She had said there were over five _thousand_ of these cells in just the one tower alone. How easily they could get lost through the twisting and darkened rooms. Following after her, two to the left, down four, and a right. He catches the smell of fresh paint.

Speaking over her shoulder, she easily explains, without the question even being posed, as if she read his mind, "They're always painting and maintaining the cells to prevent rust. Jack worked here for a summer when I was still working on my degree."

He nods, spotting the keystroke etchings of initials in a heart out of the corner of his eye. She had said something about the Bridge Authority offering tours up to the top of the tower for charity groups or something? Personally, he doesn't see the appeal as he awkwardly shuffles and ducks through the cells that seem to shrink in size as they move along.

Stopping in front of a closed panel, she pushes a faded button on the wall. "It's gonna be a tight fit, just so you know."

Another curt nod as the sound of wires strains behind the door, elevator slowly rising up to them. And _tight fit_ was an understatement. There's barely standing room for him as the door is pushed to the side. She lets him in first and he purposely crowds into the back of it. Shuffling in after him, back pressed right up against his chest as she forces the folding door into place.

A tight intake of breath as they start to descend into the darkness. She huffs out, "It actually gets worse the further down we go." Warm against his body, the top of her hood just brushing up against his shoulder. "You can get stuck if you're not careful."

He muses, "Done this before?"

Bucky feels the small nod against his torso, "Jack's idea. Always liked urban exploring." A breathy huff, he imagines her smiling, "He got stuck in the lower column when we were sixteen. I had to zap him out - after some sisterly teasing, of course."

That actually makes him smile, fondly remembering how he used to goad Steve into doing things - riding the Cyclone at Coney Island is the prominent memory - or even Rebecca pulling his leg with a toothy grin. Everyone always thought he was the troublemaker growing up. But her sweet as honey smile never raised suspicion to her true prankster self.

The elevator stops with a jump, mechanical gears stuttering and creaking. She pushes on the door and gratefully exits into a larger cell, moving two down from him. Her fists glowing bright, illuminating the walls and rivets of white painted steel. She looks at him.

He nods, finger on the comm in his ear, "Headed your way."

 _"Oh, goody,"_ comes the less than enthused reply.

Bucky gives a shrug and a grin to her before she vanishes, her eyes bright and mask shifting up with a smile of her own. And then he's engulfed by darkness. Tight, enclosed, darkness. It makes his skin crawl and his heart starts to race. The cars driving past outside, over metal grates, make for a strange background noise beyond the steel enclosure. Like some kind of mechanical beast roaring by. But before he can start to feel the fight or flight take over, a sudden flash has Clint stumbling into the wall in front of him. Gulping and gasping as his knuckles go white in a panicked grip on the door frame.

"Is it always like that?" he asks with a high-pitched voice, glancing at the girl behind his shoulder.

Bucky can see her eyes twinkle with amusement, "You get used to it after a while. And it seemed better than you jumping in here with a group of pedestrians driving by."

Clint nods, voice tight and sweat forming on his brow, "Yeah, of course, yeah totally - God, that is _awful_ . I'm sorry, but _holy shit_." He looks up at Bucky, hand held out in question, "You don't have this going on?"

With gruff voice, "Had worse, Barton."

The implication is obvious with only a few short words.

Another rough nod, "Yeah, okay. Got it." It takes effort, but Clint pulls himself up into a standing position, "Okay, where the hell are we going?"

"This way!"

They both turn to see her head poking out from the top of another hole one cell over. Clint nods, snapping his bow into a slimmer staff, crouching through a doorway to follow her down. Bucky cautiously steps after him. The light fades behind him as he moves, but it glows around her as she descends the rungs of the steel ladder.

After dropping down one level, moving awkwardly with his hands up and over his head - because he can't actually get through the hole with his broad shoulders - Bucky pauses to see that they're waiting from him, off to the side in one of the adjacent cells.

"She'll call it out, but you should probably head it up," Clint decides.

It makes sense, of course. They weren't going to send her down first into the unknown. When they got down so far, something was going to show up, and she wasn't going to be the one to face it. At least he had the assassin thing going for him. But neutralizing a threat in these cramped quarters wasn't going to be the easiest task either.

But she interrupts, "When we get down about 180 feet, you guys won't be able to fit through, just so you know." She folds her arms across her chest defensively, "I can keep going till I can get one of you down with me if it opens up. Otherwise, I'm your only way down."

A deep breath to hide his dislike of the new plan, “Whatever you say, kid.”

She was hardly a kid, but he couldn’t help the name falling from his lips. The quirk of her brows and slight jut of her hips reek of annoyance, but he knows better than to dwell on it. Instead, focusing on positioning himself through the small passages of the ladder system. He doesn’t look up, but he can hear her softer footsteps above him, following him down into the unknown. Her light managing to slip past him, illuminating the way. But only so far, careful to keep themselves hidden for as long as possible.

A minute passes, the sound of feet on steel rungs and frustrated grunts as they maneuver through the tight bridge system. It’s longer than he expected, but it doesn’t take too long for Clint to start up.

“So, what’s with the dogs?”

Bucky bites his tongue, setting his energy on the task at hand. Her laugh is gentle above him, voice reverberating off the walls of the tunnel in the tight space.

“I really don’t know what to tell ya.”

Another moment passes before an inquisitive voice asks, “Can they disappear?”

A warm huff of laughter follows. “I mean, I’ve never _seen_ them do it. But I’d imagine not?”

He hears the archer’s hum of quiet contemplation. A few steps more, boots scraping against worn steel. The lingering scent of paint from a cell further down stings his nose, making his eyes water up.

“Do you know _anything_ about how you got all this?”

Her feet stop abruptly on the ladder. Bucky can only imagine the look on her face. He slows his own pace down. Vibranium hand _clinking_ against steel as his fingers curl around the rung.

“Not really, no.”

Clint persists, “And your mom?”

She continues down the tunnel after him, voice tighter than before, “Gone by the time I was three. And no, before you ask, no abnormal powers.”

“Huh.”

They move further down the tunnel. Each new cell opening seemingly smaller than the previous. She calls it out, once they reach a cell marked _17_. Bucky squeezes through the doorway, following her directions to a section further to the right. And turning once again, another opening greets him. The gentle glow of white light sweeps past his feet, down into the darkness. At the sound of a zipper, Bucky looks behind him to see her emerging from the room. Without a word, she presses her hand up into the top left corner of the wall, just underneath a large rivet. Index finger purposely pressing against the wall with a rough push. Her gaze refusing to meet his as Clint tramples in after them.

"Is it getting harder to breathe in here, or is that just me?" He asks with a heavy groan.

Bucky eyes the corner but finds nothing there. His gaze shifts back over to her, the small black bag by her hip is the only giveaway. She easily pulls her tunic to cover it as she turns to Clint. Completely failing at trying to look inconspicuous.

"They usually funnel a tube down to distribute oxygen, but it's not like they were planning for anyone to be down here."

He waves his hand with a broken laugh, "Oh, yeah. Of course. Great. How much further?"

She pulls something out from her pocket: a scanner. Looking like something straight out of Stark's lab. Bucky has a lot of questions now.

"About forty feet till it becomes near impassable."

Clint huffs, craning his neck with a stretch, "Perfect. Needed to work off that Halloween candy anyway." He looks over at Bucky with sweat beading up on his brow, "Get moving, Barnes."

He wants to ask her, but it's not the time. And maybe if it were important enough, he would have been told. But given the origins of the scanner, he's pretty sure Tony already has his hands manipulating the whole thing. Her actions could easily be written off as nothing, but he was experienced and could read her well enough - the suspicious nature of careful movements was ringing in his mind. Too calculated, too purposeful to feign natural actions.

He gives a nod before continuing down the given path. Shoulders struggling to squeeze through the tunnel opening, chest pressed tightly against the ladder. Rung by rung, slowly working his way down - with their feet not far above him. The air is thinner as they make their way down. Steel cold beneath his hand, hairs pricking up on the back of his neck as they near the bottom.

She pauses above him. Bucky looks up, catching her eyes. “You can try the next cell down, but I’m pretty sure this is the end of the road for you two.”

He gives a curt nod. Looking down at the next opening, he grimaces. Even if he took the vibranium arm off, he still wouldn’t be able to make it through that. Pulling himself over the railing, he crouches down into the doorframe and waits for them. She heads right down to allow Clint room to join Bucky in the cell. She looks up at the number written above him, assesses the area before speaking.

“There should only be four more before I hit the bottom. And then that should be it for the passable structure,” she trails off.

“But,” Clint picks up, “That’s not our intel. There’s something else down there, yeah? You gotta bring us down when you can.”

If grown men could dock a stealth sub at the bottom of the pillars and seemingly disappear off the map, then that meant there would be standing room somewhere down there. But since they were taking the roundabout way down, she was going to be the martyr. And that made his stomach sour.

She nods with a nervous look flitting across her eyes, “Just don’t move from here. I don’t want to play Find the Avenger in this thing.”

Bucky looks from her to Clint then back again with a slow confirming nod. He doesn't like it one bit, but what choice do they have at this point?

Clint passes his comm over to her, seemingly grateful to be rid of it as he secures his left hearing aid back in place. After rubbing it down on her shirt, she tucks it into place with a slight wince.

Letting out an anxious huff of air, knuckles going white on the railing. She looks down into the darkness and then back to them, “Gentlemen. I’ll see you on the flip side.”

Once her head is ducked down and out of sight, a small glow of white light left around them, Clint nudges him with a rough elbow, "I like her." He pulls back at Bucky's gaze, fingers smoothing over his bow nonchalantly. "Don't get me wrong, weird as hell. But aren't we all?"

Bucky doesn't give him the victory of a verbal reply, just focuses back on the tunnel. Senses tuned in, waiting for the first sound of trouble to appear down below. He's not really sure what he could even do from here - it's not like he could fit through the damn tunnel even if he wanted to. Maybe Barton could squeeze through if he pushed hard enough on his head. A small smile graces his cold features at the comical thought.

"Claudia," Bucky turns at the sudden name. Clint shakes his head with a frustrated downturn of his lips, "No. Layla?"

He can't help but smirk. But he also wonders if she'll ever reveal her real name to them. Seemingly held so tightly to her chest, like a prayer, the last ties to a past life. How willing would she be? What would move her to give that up? If ever?

"Hazel? Maybe Denise?"

Bucky huffs, "Guess you'll have to wait and ask her yourself."

Clint gives him a side-eyed grin, "Yeah, but I like annoying you more."

He shakes his head to hide his own amusement. Feeling the cold creeping in as the minutes pass by without a word from her on the comms. He can feel that anxiousness crawling up his throat, pulling at the edges of his mind. Clint doesn't seem bothered by it. But he is. She's a complete rookie at this kind of thing and she sure as hell shouldn't be down there alone. Maybe a master assassin or trained agent should have the helm. But somehow, and this all really falls back on Stark because he knows Tony has his hands wrapped up in this whole mission, she has to be the one to get them in. It's all falling on this poor girl.

Someone who has nothing to lose, no one to hold them down, should be there. Someone like him. He's lived enough and done enough to know how ugly these things can get. He should be the one throwing himself into the thick of it - not her. Seriously, what the hell was Tony even thinking?

His breath catches as a voice pierces his ear.

_"Hope you guys are ready, cause, boy, do I have something to show ya."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions throughout the chapter:**  
>  **1.** Oh my god, I can not stress to you enough about this stupid bridge. If you want to know what it's like to be inside this thing, you should check out these videos: [climbing down](https://youtu.be/x94RYxM_rsY) and [climbing up](https://youtu.be/miGjl4oBuNI). Not for those with a fear of tight spaces or heights, though.


	10. Part 010 | Billionaire Genius

She squeezed herself down, down, down into the depths of the uncharted tunnels. Through painted white steel cells with tight openings where she could barely get her hands up and over her own head. Boots clunking against the ladder rungs. Finally, she pushed herself through the smallest opening yet. Down the ladder, six rungs, and then she was already hitting the floor. Inside a cell so much smaller than any of the previous ones. Ducking down, she lets the cool tingle of white light spread out from her fingers - misting out and over the walls like a cloak of fog. And then she spots it.

A single rivet out of place from the others. Hidden from view, just a hairline away from the ceiling. Curious as a cat, careful as a surgeon, she pushes against the binding and it gives way - like a button. And just like that, the electric blue hologram appears in place of the floor.

“Well, fuck me,” she huffs.

Taking a moment to regain her composure, she fishes through the small black bag to pull out another camera device. Pressing it up and under the ladder rung with care, angled right at that rivet.

The manhole cover, that appeared once the hologram dissipated, opens easily and without much noise. Pulling the scanner out, she holds it down into the lighted tunnel system.

_“What’ve we got, kid?”_

Jumping slightly at the sudden sound in her ear, it takes a moment to regain her composure, “Check for yourself.”

She imagines Tony has now got the camera feed up. Pointing down at the opening, she jiggles the scanner back and forth in full view of the newly placed camera.

 _“Interesting. Looks like you have another two hundred feet of systems there and…”_ he trails off for a moment, probably working through the info that was being transmitted back to him. _“Two heat signatures immediately at the end, followed by… I’m seeing seven? Though let’s round it up, for interference sake.”_

So, clearly this went right through the concrete column and down into the lakebed, but what then? Another tunnel? A connection to the pipeline? Or something worse?

_“And that sub is about ninety feet down. Should have an access panel around there.”_

“Awesome. Sounds great,” she toys with the scanner in her hand.

She hears the clinking of metal in the background before Tony’s voice comes back through the comm, _“You don’t sound nearly as enthused as I expected. Are Bill and Ted dragging you down or something?”_

Her head snaps up, giving the camera a pointed glare. “You want surveillance still or should I be _engaging_ or... whatever?” She fumbles her hand out, feeling the depth at which she was traversing. The sudden experience of being in the middle of uncharted territories where she couldn’t just play it by ear or do what _she_ wanted. This was an Avengers mission and she was just their local guide. That’s all.

There’s a moment of static, before a calculated, _“Not my place to say. Maybe check it out with the boys upstairs first.”_

 

* * *

 

Crouching in the small cell, scrunched together around the new tunnel system. They peered down into the harsh fluorescent passage like it was holding the answers to the universe within its concrete walls.

"And we need to go down there?" Clint rubs his temples with a slack jaw. " _Sure_ , what's another two hundred feet? Jesus."

"Could probably repel down it, couldn't you?" She mused, daring a look over at the two men.

Bucky's gaze is still focused down into the tunnel. Lips drawn tight, eyes squinting into the ether. A gloved hand scratches at a stubbled chin, mouth gaping slightly in thought.

"Yeah, I can do that. Buck?"

He seems to pull out from his focused state, nodding in reply, "That'll work. You should check the sub, though."

Clint gives a lazy salute before drawing the grappling arrows from his set. But before he can fully equip them, she rushes, “There’s two guards at the bottom, at least seven more beyond that.”

They share a confused look before turning back to study her.

“And you know this _how_?” Clint presses. “You have enhanced vision too or - ?”

Before she can answer, Bucky gestures a gloved hand at the scanner, “I think Stark might have a hand in that.”

It seems that Clint has finally taken in the advanced piece of tech, though it’s clear the other man has been a bit more observant about it all. She gives a helpless shrug. Bucky waves his hand, pushing the tension from the air.

“Doesn’t matter, at least we have eyes ahead of us.”

Clint nods firmly before jabbing the three arrows into the floor by the ladder, testing the tension in the lines before hooking them all up.

Bucky, naturally, goes first. Followed up by her and then Clint above.

 

* * *

 

To the untrained eye, Tony Stark appeared the same as he had when it was announced to the world that he was the person in the Iron Man suit at that press conference so many years ago. Sure, a few gray hairs had appeared and the wedding ring on his left hand was a new addition, but he looked relatively the same. His suits were more casual but still made of high-quality materials. His name was still synonymous with business and superheroes alike. He looked like a man who stared death in the face and walked away completely unscathed.

This was a false observation, of course.

The trained eye could see the flicker of a skin veil on his face: hiding the horrific damage done in that last battle. It was six months out and Cho was incredibly talented, but the tissues weren’t regenerating the way they should, even with her famous Cradle. And no one seemed to pick up on the high-tech prosthetic where his right arm once rested. Nerves were destroyed beyond repair when he took the power of the Gauntlet. Held down for a week in the hospital before he managed to escape to the safety of his lab to work out a new piece for himself.

Genius little nanotech to switch a simple red and gold arm into an honest-to-god look-a-like of his actual arm. Because he didn’t need to hold onto his suit every day at every waking moment. He wanted to look normal. To feel normal. To wipe the dust from his hands and go _home_. And just be… Tony.

But why hide it? For himself? Perhaps. Hard enough to hold the memories of the past decade of his life - aliens and near-death experiences expansive enough for a series of lifetimes - but to face the truth of that in the mirror each day? Or maybe for his daughter. She didn’t need to see that. Hell, he didn’t even want Pepper to see it. Though thousands of assurances were thrown his way, his mind was made up. It was just another thing to keep to himself, where late at night he could glimpse the horror of it all in the privacy of his bathroom when he removed the shield.

And when the nightmares came - and god, they came - he could escape and work and rework on the arm or work out formulas to speed up the regeneration. Hell, he even Face Timed Cho at 3 am when he needed to bounce ideas around. For now, he was scarred and fucked up, but he was _alive_. And by some mercy of a higher power, he got to keep his second chance at life.

With the aftermath of a world turned upside down and then dropped back on its feet again, he found his hands digging through dozens of projects. Philanthropy being a main focus. Hell, he even helped get Barnes’ trial pushed through as a last little promise to Steve before the guy jumped back in time for a little life of his own.

The world hadn’t slowed down with the Snap. Evil still existed. Halved like everything else, but it still found a way to survive. Even if it crawled along the tracks of forgotten infrastructure as the rest of the universe spiraled. And it certainly didn’t stop with the Blip. Maybe it even increased its speed. Going from a slow zombie walk to a full sprint. The world needed a little normalcy. Five months were enough before Iron Man made headlines again.

He didn’t need to be the main hero. Didn’t want to be. Honestly, he’d be content just building and supplying the team from the background.

 _"You want to be our_ **_arms_ ** _dealer, then?"_ Rhodey had joked, tapping the new prosthetic metal arm with a Stark Industries pen.

And if Tony was honest with himself, he really doesn’t know how he got tied up with the deal in Detroit. Sam and Barnes could handle it no problem - they seemed to be melding together pretty well after Steve’s time jump. And then Wanda got involved. Peter had begged for a chance to get back out in the field, but that was an easy rejection on his part. If he could help it, that kid would never leave the Queens area again.

Fuck knows how Clint wound up there with Wanda. But then him and Rhodey were suiting up and in the middle of the crumbling old Central Station.

Three weeks, on and off. Flying between there and New York. And on the one night he was tinkering with the arm in that hotel, with Rhodey and Clint discussing the longevity of the Lions in the playoffs with ESPN going in the background, a little gem dropped right down onto his lap.

As if he could ever say no to something seemingly unexplainable. Or a kid with weird fucking powers. It started a bit of an obsession, watching those CCTV clips of moon girl disappearing into thin air like a Vegas magic trick. Like a weapon or a suit or piece of alien tech, he wanted to open it up and figure out how it ticked. What powered it, how it stopped and started. And little miss Mackinac was the greatest mystery of the past few months. Something he could sink his teeth into and maybe, temporarily, forget about all the shit in his own life for a few minutes.

“I didn’t think that was your type,” Pepper huffs behind him.

Turning at the intrusion, Tony finds her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, brows raised with a hint of amusement. Helplessly, his mouth gapes as she strides forward to stare at the holographic display of the girl.

Her fingers reach out to enlarge the picture and then the bio, “God, what is she? Like, twenty?” She turns with a smirk, voice turning sultry smooth, “Should I be worried, Tony?”

He seizes forward to minimize the display, resting back against the table and effectively pushing her in front of him, “I got you an alpaca didn’t I? That’s, like, the newest way to express long-term commitment.”

She laughs, “No. _You_ got an alpaca. I just allow it to live here.”

“Which I’m eternally grateful for, by the way,” he sways up into her space, arms encircling her waist, breath hot on her neck as he nuzzles his nose against her pale skin.

Letting her arms drape over his shoulders, she rocks into him, spins them around, and pushes him back towards the kitchen as she opens the file again with a honey laugh. Tony saunters back up to her with a minor sulk on his face.

A moment of scanning the girl’s file before she asks, “New agent?”

He lets his fingers rest on her hips, anxiously drumming a beat against her dark denim jeans, “Maybe. Don’t know yet.”

Pepper hums noncommittally, swiping through the few available records and reports he was able to scrounge up. Then there’s a little hitch in her breathing and Tony tries to focus in on the file she’s reading. When nothing obvious sticks out to him, he finally caves and asks, “What?”

She just shakes her head, voice soft, “Nothing. Just, what’s her IQ reading?”

His brow furrows slightly, lips drawn tight, “Average? Marginal at best?”

Pepper pushes off from the table, uses her hands to guide him to the record she had just been reading over. “I don’t know, Tony. How many kids do you know with a full doctorate at twenty-four?”

“What?” He finds himself asking as his mind begins to retrace the lines and images he’d read over and over again, pushing his wife further to the side as he brings up the girl’s degree and employment history. And there staring back at him in illuminated light reads:

_Diane Smith, M.D._

_Fuck_ , how did he miss that?

“I, uhm,” he stumbles, bringing up more records and only sensing Pepper taking a few steps back, gently saying something about checking on Morgan doing her homework. But he's already jumping ten steps ahead as he takes in the new information.

Twenty-five-year old girl, fully licensed obstetrician. She would have had to start college at, like, twelve. And speaking of school, he never did find a high school diploma. Which should have been easy, tiny island and all. But her dad was also hiding them away so, what? Homeschooling? So, did she just fast track through the courses?

And then that just brings up a new barrel of alien creatures, doesn’t it?

Okay. From the top:

  * Girl. Weird moon powers.
  * Twin brother, equally weird powers, deceased.
  * Father, doctor, deceased.
  * Mother?



“Huh,” Tony pauses his scanning, not recalling anything in the files that mentioned another parent. “Hey, FRIDAY? Do we have anything on the kid’s mom?”

_“Let me take a look, Boss.”_

After a moment, a single document pulls up. The death certificate of Jack Smith. Tony zooms in on the image, focusing in on the relevant information.

 **Father’s Name (First, Middle, Last, Suffix):  
**Anthony R. Martin

 **Mother’s Name Prior To First Marriage (First, Middle, Last):  
** Leta _Unknown_

Okay. So, that’s a thing.

Just when he thinks he finally has a few corner pieces of the puzzle worked out, another box of pieces is dumped onto the table. He barely had time to focus on one aspect of the girl before another part was thrust in front of him, violently screaming the mysterious nature of it all.

Dragging his lip between his teeth, he maps out a plan in his head for a hot second, left hand anxiously rubbing the metal prosthetic covered by the sleeve of his shirt.

“Okay,” he announces, “Let’s run a secondary search on mom. Keep reviewing the scans from the vanishing act, and bring up the feed from the lab this morning. Timecode 09:47, or about - whenever the hell she showed up.”

FRIDAY easily switches the images, bring up three different camera angles. Tony watches the videos for a moment before stepping forward and bracing his hands on the edge of the table.

“Let’s slow it by 60%, replay from 09:46:54 to 09:47:03.”

FRIDAY complies. The feed shows the lab, followed by a flash of light, and then Diane standing there. He lets the videos loop three times before he filters the settings again.

“Slow to 80, camera B only.”

The other two videos are swiped away as the main video is enlarged in front of him. In bright holographic blue, his eyes focus in on the flash of light. He moves to bring his right hand up, before remembering himself, and instead pulling his left hand up to bite at his thumb.

“95%.”

The video loops again, the feed broken into slow, choppy movements.

“Zoom in on the source.”

And again, the video starts over, but it’s heavily zoomed. Empty lab for two seconds and then -

“Pause!”

The image is frozen. The flash of white light surrounds the room, but only a fraction of her is now shown. As if stepping through a doorway or a portal, Tony sees her chest and the silver sun necklace breaking through the bright light.

Interesting.

 

* * *

 

“You’re good,” he says roughly.

She takes the cue and repels the last ten feet down. Boots hit the gray concrete floor as she unhooks herself from the wire. Bucky re-ties his hair back with a serious expression. During which time, she takes a moment to examine the area.

They’re standing on a small platform, like a subway station, and there’s a single railway next to them - just a step-down. And then it’s just endless, dark, tunnel in either direction. A brown pipe seems to run the length of the ceiling, directly over the tracks. And of course, there are two men laying just a few feet away. Dressed in black tactical gear, with a sickly gush of red covering one’s chest.

“Barton, how’re we looking?”

She focuses back on Bucky as he speaks into his comm.

_“Uhm, confused.”_

He huffs a laugh, but it’s empty as he turns around, eyes shooting from one end of the tunnel to the other. His voice is tense, rushed, “Why?”

_“I can fly the quinjet, no problem. This thing? It’s insane, advanced. Hard to put into easy terms.”_

Bucky shakes his head with a frustrated grit of his teeth, “Do what you gotta do. I’m heading northbound.”

_“Got ya. But you know, this thing, let me tell you, Barnes. It’s honestly weird because - “_

Bucky rips the comm from his ear before he can hear Clint’s ramble. He takes a long breath before finally looking up and taking her back in. Almost seeming to forget she was even there with him in the first place.

He barely contains his groan as he runs his hand across his face, “Okay. Stay here, stay low.”

Her expression pinches up, “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” he reinforces as he sidesteps the bodies of the guards and starts to head down the tunnel.

She takes off after him, “I can help. I’m not completely defenseless here.”

He speaks over his shoulder, “Never said you were. But,” he turns around and grabs her forearms with a gentle grip, “your job is done. You got us in. Now let me do my job.”

“Which is…?” She asks indignantly with a tilted chin.

He looks like he wants to step forward to her challenge, get in her face and tell her off, but he drops her arms instead. His eyes meet hers with a pointed, emotionless stare. “Stay.”

“I’m not an agent you can order around or - “

His voice rumbles with peaking frustration, “Kid, I don’t have time for this - “

Mouth gaping, ready to protest his condescending words, she spots something over his shoulder. Taking a step back, her hands glow bright white. His eyes flash from her face to her powers with a confused look. Quickly drawing them together and rolling the light into a tight ball, she mutters, “Duck.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t question it. Dropping and rolling into a crouch as she throws the ball straight at the silently approaching guard, who stumbles backwards at the stinging attack.

Bucky’s quickly on his feet, knife unsheathed from his thigh holster. He throws it up into the air to change his grip before taking a running leap, landing on top of the startled guard. With immeasurable force, he jabs the knife right into the side of the man’s throat. He gurgles up sticky crimson blood. Bucky forces it in further and twists it roughly.

Stepping back before he removes it, the guard helplessly scrabbles to bring his hands up to the gushing wound, but it’s for naught. She looks away, unable to watch the suffering. There’s a heavy _thud_ as the man falls forward. Thick red blood pooling out around him as Bucky casually wipes his knife on the back of the man’s pants to clean it off before reholstering it.

Her shoulders shudder with a heave as the power drains from her hands and the adrenaline bleeds out. Each inhale feels harder than the previous as she draws in a cold breath through her nose. Chest shaking with the effort. She can feel his gaze, studying her with icy, calculating eyes. It’s hard for her not to wonder what he’s thinking, what conclusions he’s making about her in his head.

He reaches out a gloved hand and barely even touches her covered elbow. Blue eyes already focused further down the tunnel, as he mumbles, “Come on.”

Bucky takes off with a slow stride, not even looking back for her reaction. It takes a second for the words to make a complete connection in her brain. And then her legs kick into gear, following behind him and into the unknown. Wondering if the begrudging acceptance was because of showing her powers or a feeling of having no real choice in the matter. Either way, it was a bit of progress that she could ponder on if and when they got out of there.

Taking up a similar stance, creeping close to the wall, steps as quiet as possible. This was a mission beyond her experience for sure. She could handle loud bang middle of the city small-time criminal ass-kicking. Stop, disarm, humiliate a little, then turn over to the authorities. Maybe take a little bit of glory from the police and the small crowd livestreaming the whole thing.

But this? This was something else entirely. There were at least three dead men behind them. Three. Dead. Men. People who were decidedly bad, evil, had attempted to kill _them_. But god, they must have had families. Lives. Ambitions outside of criminal activities. She had never killed before, hoped she would never have to. But the anxiety was mixing with the adrenaline in a strange sour stomach-churning kind of way now. Who would want this kind of life?

And if the master assassin realizes just how much this is affecting her, he chooses not to comment on it. Simply taking the lead and focusing his attention on any movement or sound ahead of them.

 


	11. Part 011 | Prelude to Chaos

The scattered stream of headlights flash by in a strange nighttime blur. Yellow haze streaking by, illuminating dark asphalt and tall green forest, glimpses of other cars and their weary passengers. From the top of Castle Rock, she takes in the late hour traffic, feet dangling over the edge - past the fenced-in barrier, boots bouncing off the rough limestone. It’s peaceful up here. Quiet, tranquil. With hands clutching around the worn metal rails, her face pressed up against them, she can see the tiny dots of the campground across the road, the neighboring town to the south. Maybe even the docks. And beyond that, a tiny flicker of a lighthouse out on the dark lake.

The gentle rustle of trees swaying in the wind and the thrum of cars on the interstate surround her; cradle her. With a clear mind, she can well and truly relax. The sticky humid summer air had finally faded away as the sky grew dark. And up here, with the breeze flowing up and over the trees and through her hair, she can savor the rare moment. Even with the black leggings and long sleeve shirt, it’s not unbearable weather, though she wouldn’t mind another few degree drop.

She lets her gaze fall back to the very distant island and its tiny star-like lights. The Grand, as always, is lit up like a Christmas tree as tourist season is in full swing. She didn’t mind escaping the crowds of Fudgies for a few days at a time. They would reclaim their island in a few short months anyway. But as she drifts into a daydream, the lights seem to blur together. Growing closer. Brighter.

Watching with a slow and familiar feeling of amusement as glistening gold light streaks across the midnight sky. Swooping over the marina and curving past the tree line with complete show-offy arrogance. A sharp gust of wind  _ whooshes _ overhead, blowing her hair back violently. And then a gentle  _ thud _ of boots hitting the stone walkway drops down behind her.

_ "Hey, fuckface," _ is the given greeting.  _ "Thought we said no more tourist traps." _

She turns, pulling her legs up from over the ledge. Standing tall, challenging the younger boy.  _ "Well,  _ **_jackass_ ** _. You're late." _

He scoffs, shaking free from his black mask. Brushing a hand through his wind-swept hair. Crossing his arms all defiant-like, as if he held any sort of authority over her.  _ "Some of us have jobs.  _ **_Real_ ** _ jobs." _

Cocking her hip out, she takes a mirroring stance by crossing her arms,  _ "And some of us are studying to get better jobs. So, fuck me, right?" _

He drops his arms to his sides.  _ "You're an ass," _ he mutters, gaze drawn to the blanket of stars up above.

With a groan, she drops her hands onto the railing, focusing on the ant-like vehicles driving on the road down below. Steadying herself on the movement and thrum of tires rotating against the asphalt.

_ "Sometimes," _ she breathes out,  _ "I need the quiet." _

Jack moves in next to her, arms draped over the rail, elbow bumping up against hers.  _ "I can't do that shit - sit still and all that Buddha jazz you do - " _

_ "Meditate, dipshit," _ she chides,  _ "It's meditating." _

His warmth is comforting against the cool night breeze. Her boots grind against the small pieces of gravel underfoot.

_ "The fuck you need to meditate on anyway?" _ His eyes are distant, staring off into the darkness with a certain weariness that he seems to hold now. Like the lake on a quiet night: eerily turbulent and dark as ink. It coats him, hides the brilliant golden rays of his light. Death does that to a person, it seems.

It takes a moment to decide if she really wants to drop it all here. At the top of Castle Rock at eleven at night with her brother. Not that she had many other people she could talk to like this anyway.

After a silent moment, she nudges his elbow with her own,  _ " 'm tryin' figure out how to replace your cologne with deer piss." _

His laugh breaks on the wind. Eyes bright with starlight, teeth white as the moon above - as her powers - it breaks through the darkened cracks of his shell.  _ "You're a shit older sister, you know that, right?" _

She shrugs, unable to hide her own smile,  _ "Well, you’re stuck with me. Someone has to look after your dumb ass. Ever since…" _

_ Ever since dad died _ hangs in the air with a stomach-churning jolt.

He sees the mood change, the brightness dull, her expression drop. He's always been good with that stuff; too good, sometimes. He can shove aside his own grief for another day.

His shoulder knocks against hers,  _ "Come on. Don't have time to get depressed on me. I've got the frequency going." _

Right. Push it down, deep into her gut until it just stings. She can unfold it and worry it over in her mind when they’re done. They have more important things to focus on now. Jack pulls out the small hand-held radio from his bag. Gently turning the volume up to be just barely audible over the whistle of summer wind. 

_ "Fuckers are gonna be hitting the Mackinaw toll booths soon." _

She bends down to listen to the police scanner. Catching bits and pieces of the conversation between at least three different officers and their dispatcher. Jack turns the volume down with a gentle twist of the dial.

_ "Lost them around Cheboygan, heading north on 23. But you know they're looking to make a break for it up here." _

She nods, straightening up to scan the area before falling back to her brother.  _ "What're we looking for?" _

_ "Red '98 Skylark." _

Another nod, before tilting her head to the side just a bit, a grin breaking free on her face,  _ "Race?" _

Jack beams with a devilish glint to his eyes,  _ "Oh, you're fucking on!" _

_ "Top of the north tower, five-second head start." _

He folds his arms over his broadening chest,  _ "Screw you. Ten, at least." _

Cocking her head in thought, she finally bargains back,  _ "Seven. Final offer." _

His eyes shift upward, contemplating the offer, going so far as to rub his chin thoughtfully.  _ "Let me just think about that -  _ **_op_ ** _!" _

With a sudden flash of gold, he jumps into the air, hovering just above her head. With a giant beaming smile directed down at her, he takes off. Zooming through the air, over the treeline, towards the bridge. 

Laughing, despite herself. She shouts after him,  _ "Asshole!" _

Generously, she gives him another two seconds, before pulling her mask up and vanishing in a flash of bright white light.

 

* * *

Two echoing cracks of fingers snapping brings her back to the present.

"Hey, moonchild. You talking to your Lunar gods?"

Her brows draw with irritation. Feeling oddly vulnerable at having let her mind wander off like that. In front of one of the most famous superheroes of the modern era. Rubbing at her temple, she shakes her head, " _ No _ , I heard you. Just… had a late night."

Tony hums as he moves around his giant workbench. Leaning back against it, fiddling with something in his hands, "Probably used to that. Doctor by day, gallivanting hero by night."

She rescinds, "And residentials kicked my ass pretty good. But, that was kind of a new scenario for me this morning."

He smirks, but his eyes don't light up enough to seem fully genuine, "What, not used to dragging two random guys to your secret cabin in the woods after a gunfight?"

"Can't say I am."

Tony tilts his head in acknowledgment, pocketing the small object into his pants pocket. Then he just stares at her; reading her, perhaps. Either way, the silence followed by the blank expression is unnerving enough to make her regret coming to his lab in the first place.

Suddenly, he jumps forward, gears moving at an increased speed. "Thirsty? Probably after all that you're parched. Is it draining? Using the vanishing act, I mean. Greater distance, greater energy depletion correlation?"

"Uhm," she stumbles over her words as she tries to keep up with his sudden boost. Feeling the exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours draping over her like a heavy blanket. "Yes?"

Moving back around the bench, he starts typing away on his phone, barely sparing her a glance. "What's the farthest distance you've traveled?"

The question takes her slightly by surprise, trying to remember every location she had visited over the past decade. 

"Maybe Paris?"

He pauses to look up at her, "Work or pleasure?"

Shrugging helplessly, "Tourist?"

"Huh," he stares at her for a moment before continuing to type away.

She looks around the lab again, at the too-bright sunlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The giant wall of old suits, carefully stored away in glass cases, backlit and clearly labeled.

"And what's with your magic dogs?"

She whips around to gape at him.

He straightens slightly at the look, going as far as to lower his phone down a few inches. "Barton mentioned weird dogs," he clarifies.

"Uhm, I - I'm sorry?"

Tony types out one last line before palming the phone and striding back around the table. "Thirsty, right? I'll show you the kitchen. Massive selection available. Need to talk about that  _ costume _ of yours too. You’re literally a walking fire hazard at this point, and I’m not saying I would feel responsible for an untimely demise, but we could probably upgrade some things. Just need to get your print here - "

He grabs her hand suddenly and holds it under his phone. Before she can protest or complain, a blue light illuminates her index finger. When it flashes, Tony drops her hand and smiles, "There, in our system now. Can get anywhere in the compound if you wanted."

She pulls back, confused, "Why? Why would you…  _ grant _ me that kind of access? You barely know me! I, I could kill you. I mean, do you usually do this for people?"

A small voice in the back of her head chimes in with the thought that the security system should have reacted when she appeared in the lab - alerting everyone to a threat. So, in a sense, she was already in the clear and didn't need to have an imprint taken. Which always brings into question the effectiveness of Tony Stark's security if someone like her was able to just… appear in a secure building.

He tilts his head side to side thoughtfully, "I think if you wanted to violently  _ murder _ us, you could have done that already. But, judging by that work you did on Barton's arm, I think you might just be okay. Weird as hell, don't get me wrong - "

She purses her lips, crosses her arms defiantly. 

"But, we're all kind of weird here. It's like our brand at this point." He goes to move towards the glass doors, "You coming, kid? I mean, the lab's alright and everything, but it might be good to know your way around this place."

She wants to ask why and for what purpose, but she thinks she already knows.

 

* * *

The tunnel lights are dim compared to the entrance they came from. A simple fluorescent every few feet, just enough to illuminate the way. If Stark's scans were accurate, then the security detail working down here must be complete shit. Because three armed guards being unresponsive brings no rush or attack their way. Which makes him wonder what they must be so preoccupied with that they wouldn't notice three of their own were missing.

She's handling it well enough, considering. And that's not really saying much. He's too desensitized to it at this point. Long since those first few weeks in Europe at the start of the war killed that naive trepidation in him. Death is death and if it comes in the form of someone charging you with deadly intent, then so be it.

But the light show probably hasn't seen death in such a way before. Her parents, maybe some elderly family members. But in this scenario? Of someone coming at you, ready to send that bullet into the closet major organ. That was probably a rare occurrence in her life.

Bucky garners that when he looks over his shoulder and sees her following just a little bit closer. Walking perfectly in step, slouched down ever so slightly, like his shadow is a giant shield for her. And maybe it is. He'd probably run off and subdue the next group before she had a chance to get her hands glowing misty white. And he kind of prefers it that way.

What does he have to lose for it? What life awaits him after they leave this tunnel? It's the negative kind of thoughts his therapist would gently chide him for, steer him towards a generic form of self-love mantras that he can't get the knack for yet. But god almighty, it's true. It feels true in his bones. If he went out tonight and gave her and Clint a fighting chance to go home, then that wouldn't be a bad way to go.

Natasha died for a cause she wasn't sure would work, but she had to believe it would in the end. Bucky doesn't think what happened on Vormir would have if she didn't. Dying for something like that? He could understand it. The lives of the many - the universe, or maybe even just two people in an underwater tunnel system with him - outweigh the life of one person.

Steve would chastise him here. They weren't supposed to trade lives. But Steve wasn't here. And he didn't really view it as trading lives, so much as finishing his chapter in a greater story.

They've made it almost a mile down now, edging closer to the upper peninsula. She's remained silent this entire time. 

And then he hears it.

Stepping sideways as he turns his back against the wall, she silently follows suit. Working in synchronicity without a given direction. On instinct, he holds his hand out in front of her to keep her in place as he peers around the arched grey brick column.

Further down the tunnel, he can see carts on the tracks and off to the side, a metal door which has just closed.

He looks back at her curious expression. Less fearful now, but something's there. He thinks it's anticipation. 

And at this moment, he regrets not having Clint here. He knows a twinge of ASL and could easily communicate to the archer without a single sound. It would be something he'd have to work on with her.

Which is a train of thought that slams painfully into the side of his head.  _ Work on with her? _ Like he was expecting to go on a series of missions in the future together? If he didn't get his head on straight, they'd be in a real mess of a situation. 

Letting his head  _ thud _ back against the brick wall, he takes a moment to go over the best options and routes. It had been a full minute since the door opened and closed, which could lead to a number of scenarios in itself. Their biggest intel could be gained from those carts - which are definitely holding something, but at this distance, he just can't see what.

Opening his eyes, the plan clear, he lolls his head to the side and is slightly surprised to find her already looking up at him. Swallowing the tiny lump that's formed in his throat, he whispers, "We need to see what's in those carts."

She gives a shaky nod.

"There's a door at my one, about thirty feet down. We're gonna have trouble if we linger."

"Okay." Her chin tilts up as she mentally readies herself. He can almost see the adrenaline rolling off her and he can't help the quirk of his lips that pull with amusement.

He gives her, what he hopes, is a reassuring nod before slinking around the archway. Bucky can feel her following his near footsteps as he moves down the tunnel. And as they approach the train of seven carts, confusion takes over. 

Packs and packs of water bottles is  _ not _ what he was expecting. 

There's nothing inherently illegal about an underground tunnel carting around water. Perfectly intact, seemingly new and fresh off the line, bottled water. Cases upon cases of Articana water. And nothing connects in his mind for why this should be down here, what greater purpose it was serving.

She's less cautious than she should be, drawn towards the carts. Letting her hand reach out to touch the plastic wrap casing as her brow quirks in confusion.

"What do they - "

And he's dragging her behind the other side of the cart before she can even finish her sentence. In the knick of time too as the door swings open with a metal  _ creak  _ as four guards saunter out of another room; a stairwell it seems.

Bucky wants to slam his head into the cart.


	12. Part 012 | Light Chaos

It all happens in a flash. A blink of an eye and everything falls to orchestrated chaos in a way that no action movie will ever fully capture. And in that sense, it's terrifyingly unnerving. One minute she's working out an elaborate puzzle she has only a few pieces to, and then she's being thrown behind a cart and shielded by a mass of kevlar and radiating warmth. A vibranium hand is clamped over her mouth as she breathes furiously against the cold fingers.

Bucky's entire being is engulfing her as he crouches behind the metal cart. He's more controlled in his nature than she thinks is possible in the current situation. But she attempts to slow her breathing and that anxious bug running through her body as a sense of fight or flight kicks in.

The guards - four of them - are talking amongst themselves in a carefree and nonchalant way that comes from feeling secure in your environment. They have no idea what lies only a few feet away. But she can't make out what they're saying as everything has become rather muffled by her own heart beating and the need to  _get out get out get out_  thrumming through her veins.

But the mood seems to shift as they - yes, they have their radios out now. And they're being met with silence as they call out for the three men Bucky had taken care of further down the tunnel. Heavy footsteps start making their way down the path they had just come, and if that guard turns around they'll be seen. Bucky seems to sense this because he draws his hand back slowly. Her breath fogs up the palm of his metal hand as he pulls away from her.

A hand clamps down on her shoulder. She doesn't need to be proficient in mission signaling to know that it means  _stay put_. And this is one instance she will follow along with to the letter.

Bucky pivots on his toes in an easy way that doesn't even make a  _squeak_  against the ground. The language of his back reads nothing but tension, and she can't help but wonder; why? He was an assassin of old, trained and proficient in ways she couldn't fully grasp. And yet, as he lines up the shot, she can see the tiniest quiver as his left-hand balls up into an anxious fist.

The close proximity and echoing nature of the tunnel only amplifies the thrumming in her ears as the world falls around them. Everything's muffled and has an underwater nature to its waves as a body drops. Where Bucky moves at a heightened speed, she feels like she's in a dreamlike state where everything's muddled and hazy. There's shouting and more shooting. Ricochets off metal carts and a vibranium arm that  _ping_  and zip by. But it's moving with a lazy sense of time that comes from shock alone.

And then the chaos breaks through the deafened senses like an explosion as the voices become crystal clear and she can actually feel the panic set in.

This was nothing like before. Past missions with Jack were like pretend play compared to this. Even the last two instances with the Avengers gave her no credence over this moment. Close proximity gunfire with almost nowhere to hide and shield herself. And yet Bucky was actively running into it. He was doing something about it. While she was cowering.

She could zap herself out, claim it was too much to handle and wipe her hands clean of the whole thing. And yet, she felt a responsibility to the men who she had accompanied down into this hellscape. 

Making to peer between the carts almost has a bullet getting sent directly through her forehead. That, in itself, is enough to make anyone's sense of morality come to a screeching halt. Her back slams against the cart as the ability to breath becomes far more difficult. 

Bucky's grunting or screaming, it's honestly hard to tell over the absolute thundering noise taking place just a few feet away.

When she goes to peer over the cart, a bullet - possibly misdirected or meant for her head - clips the plastic wrap of the Articana bottles and narrowly misses her temple with the ricochet.  Dropping down once again, she surveys the scene behind her. Nothing of use - nothing to cause a momentary distraction or to further shield herself. And until she could get a hold of Bucky, there would be no vanishing act.

And yet…

Another heavy grunt, followed by a body slamming into concrete. Punching or possibly stabbing, more shouting.

With adrenaline pumping and the fear forced deep down into the pit of her stomach, her hands start glowing their cool white light. When she stands, only one guard notices her and goes to take aim. She catches Bucky's attention for a split second before sending a massive ball of light right at the guards.

A gun fires.

Time stops.

The shockwave explodes into a shield-like structure, blasting through the air in a rush of bright light. A bullet, meant for her, cuts through the light. But as if it were moving in slow motion, it seems to freeze for a single moment before changing its angle ever so slightly. The death sentence aimed at her head instead grazes the top of her hair and collides with the brick wall behind her.

It's enough to make even the trained assassin stop in his tracks, but only long enough to give a slow blink before ultimately sheathing his knife into a guard's chest. Where he had been straddling over the man’s torso, he seems to move with a heightened speed as he spins around. Jabbing his elbow into the second guard’s stomach, the man bends forward just in time for Bucky to uppercut him with his left fist. That guard goes sailing backwards, head bouncing off the wall with a sickening  _thud_.

And when Bucky turns to finish off the last man, he appears slightly surprised to find a glowing white knife held just a breath away from the guard’s throat. With a turn, he gives her a little nod. Something shimmers in his eyes. It would be presumptuous to call it pride. But then he’s striding towards the guard, stepping over the first two bodies. With a painful twist, he pulls the man’s hands behind his back - the gun gets tossed down towards her feet, which she hesitantly moves to grab - and forces him down onto his knees.

Knowing the basics of firearm handling she points the pistol down, unloads the magazine and pulls the slide back to empty the rounds. Fully armed, of course. Only one bullet missing - probably the one that exploded against the wall behind her. The rough grunt of the guard pulls her attention back to the platform.

Bucky’s got a handful of the man’s hair, yanked back with a purposefully painful grip. His expression is cold, unforgiving as he bends down to study the guard’s face.

“Let’s get to know each other,” he seethes.

An actual whimper, so tiny and minuscule, but still audible escapes the man’s lips.

* * *

The guard, surprisingly, wouldn't talk. And despite his best efforts, Bucky couldn't find it in himself to display his full arsenal of interrogation tactics in front of her. So, he called it in with SHIELD, though all evidence was heavily circumstantial at best. Transporting water wasn't actually illegal. Even if it was happening in a highly suspicious way.

And though he had a vice grip on the unmoving guard, he found himself watching the girl across the way. Sitting on the opposite platform, boots kicking against the cement wall, gaze fixed on the carts. And yeah, he was pretty perplexed about the found cargo too. Originally looking for illegal arms, then hand drills, and all they got, in the end, were cases of bottled water.

Her gaze lifts, feet stilling their movement, as she looks down the tunnel. Naturally, Bucky follows her and can't help the smirk that creeps up as Clint comes trudging down the darkened track.

"Would it kill you to turn your comm on?" The archer huffs as he nears them. He doesn't seem bothered by the three other bodies as he approaches the carts. His face screws up in confusion, "The hell is this?"

Bucky just gives a shake of his head, too wound up to reply with actual words.

Clint grabs a case, lifts it up as if he was expecting the true cargo to be hidden underneath, but only grunts when he uncovers more water. Slamming the case back down, he turns to Bucky.

"No, seriously. This is what we got?"

"This is what we got," Bucky repeats.

The blonde huffs, spins on his feet, taps an anxious hand on the edge of the cart, then turns back to the assassin. 

"No, but really."

He finds himself growing more agitated with the questioning, "Really."

Clint hums in reply, absently walking along the side of the carts, peering down into each one and finding identical Articana cases.

His gaze doesn't waver from the products as he asks, "How you holding up, kid?"

Bucky's eyes shoot over to her - she seems rather surprised to even be addressed in the conversation. He notices the glint of a necklace being worried between her fingers.

She watches Clint for a moment before answering, "I'm fine."

Clint's hand drums against the plastic wrap casing, "You get some hits in or did he just charge in like an idiot?"

That manages a giggle out of her and he finds himself slightly relieved that she's not reacting in a horrified way, now that he has a second to take in the bodies of the guards he had killed.

Her voice is more sure as she grins, "He went all white knight, but that last one was all on me."

"Good." The archer smiles at her before jerking his head over to Bucky, "You call it in yet or - "

" 'Course I did."

He holds his hands up defensively, " 'kay. I would've known that if you kept your damn comm on."

Clint worries at his bow while eyeing the carts, her, and the disarmed guard. Silence seems to take hold for a moment as everyone falls to their own running thoughts. There's a lot to process here between the fight and the confusing puzzle in front of them. Bucky, for all his experience, can't comprehend the meaning behind the water yet - if it held any relevance at all, which it must have if five carts worth was anything to go by. But for what purpose? Under a lakebed, in a man-made tunnel, where a high-tech sub had been transporting hand drills, it just didn't seem to fit into the given story.

"You hear that?"

Bucky and Clint turn to look at her with matching curiosity. He stills himself, searching for the sound. He should have been able to hear something before she would, but he was lost in his own thoughts. He needed to focus. That was his job; do your damn job, Barnes.

But then his heart rate slows and the mind noise is forced on mute and he hears it. The faint  _drip, drip, drip_  somewhere down the track. Which isn't terrifying at all when you're in a tunnel underwater.

Clint looks back at him, "How far does this thing go on for?"

And for that, he doesn't have an answer.

She pulls out her Stark scanner, stares at the screen for a moment before relaying back, "I can see another hundred feet at least, if not more. Only us four too."

The guard groans at the information which causes Bucky to tighten his grip that much more.  He revels in that sharp intake of breath that comes from the sudden pain. 

"Hey,  _Holly_. Feel like a field trip?" Clint grins, rocking back on his feet as he tests out another name.

She gives no inclination if he's got it right or not, but she hops down onto the tracks with a  _thud_  of black boots. She gives her back a little stretch and smiles, "Could use some more adventure in my life."

That makes Bucky scoff, recalling the sheer panic on her face only ten minutes prior. 

Clint nods as she walks over to him, giving Bucky a warning point of his finger, "Turn your comm on and tell me when they're in the area."

Bucky forces a smirk, "Maybe."

She turns to look back at him, hair flowing free from her hood, "Do it or maybe I'll just leave you down here."

Her eyes glint with something veering on playful, though there's a hint of fear still hanging around the corners. He doesn't mention that he could easily get out if he needed to, just gives an affirmative nod and watches the two of them walk down the tracks of the darkened tunnel.

* * *

The trek further down the tracks is done in relative silence, which is surprising considering the previous non-stop questioning she had been delivered by the blonde archer. But it seems he's switched over to a more vigilant state as his eyes sweep the tunnel for the source of the dripping and any possible threat. His way is similar to Bucky's, but he seems more hyper-focused on corners and darkened patches of the tunnel. Instead of a steady sweep across, it's more rooted and calculating. 

She has the scanner out, it's smaller than her own phone. A blue hue illuminates from the edge as it configures the area into visible data points. Fifty feet down with no sign of another person, which does bring a nice sense of relief to her mind.

They smell it before they properly see it: a distinctive scent of gasoline.

And then there's a new train of carts, lined up under a gleaming pipe that drops down from the rusted pipeline embedded in the ceiling. And in the carts, as they approach them, they see small metallic containers that absolutely reek of gas.

Clint holds up a flashlight to see it properly. The jugs are full of dark liquid, four to a cart. Tilting his grip back, the light follows up the pipe where a minuscule drop of liquid is beading up. It reaches capacity before plummeting down on the edge of the cart with a heavy  _plop_. Wherein it joins the expanding puddle on the floor.

Craning his head back, he draws the flashlight to the junction where the new pipe has been soldered into the existing line.

"Is that…?" He glances over at her.

It takes a moment before the pieces line up into a finished picture.

"Yeah, that's Line 5,” she manages with a stunned demeanor.

He gives a low whistle, "Well, shit."

With a  _click_ , he turns the light off and pockets it away. And then an open palm is being held out to her expectantly. "I know you have a line to Stark, let's have it."

With a sheepish shrug, she hands over the more discrete device.

Holding it up to his mouth, Clint huffs, "What'd you make of this one, Tony?"

A buzz of static, then,  _"Some serious OSHA violations."_

* * *

In retrospect, the lab had been rather empty. But she'd been so transfixed on who she was standing in front of and what he was suggesting that it hadn't really dawned on her. Not until they were walking down a concrete hallway and the bare bone nature of the building had made its appearance. 

Tony talks over his shoulder as he sidesteps a rough patch of floor and wooden planks, "You know, they actually wanted us to head back to the city? Take over the tower again. Well, not  _everyone_. Did you see the footage?"

With that last question, he does spare her a look, seeking confirmation.

"What footage?"

He groans, "Giant battle aftermath? Smoldering ruins and an insurance policy torn to shreds."

Oh,  _that_  footage. The one that the news stations had played religiously like a second Ground Zero. This time they weren't seeking out victims in the rubble or replaying an endless loop of planes hitting a building, just the smokey remains of the Avengers compound and multiple retellings of events. It's all she could watch for a solid month after returning in the Blip.

Her silence doesn't stop Tony though, he continues on with even a stronger sense of gusto.

"Would  _you_  want us in the middle of Manhattan after this? I mean, I like the centralized location - don't get me wrong. Your typical asshole with inhuman abilities and a personal vendetta isn't going after podunk farmland. And, okay, Barton suggested moving operations to Greenland," he maneuvers sideways as they pass through some construction workers and an electrician on a ladder.

"But why the hell would I want us there? We don't need a fortress to mope in. Solitude is not a main staple here. So, upstate it is. Nearest populace is twenty miles out. Hell of a time getting someone to sign over the land though, even after all the world-saving." Tony pauses as a crew trudges through with a heavy pipe, looks over his shoulder once more, "You kinda get used to that though."

And then they're walking past more threadbare rooms in different stages of completion. Admittedly, she's lost track of how far they've actually walked and how many side hallways they've gone down. But it does affirm one thing: his lab is deep within the structure.

He graciously holds open a steel door for her as they enter a stairwell. Tony jogs up the first few steps, hands balled up in his jean pockets, a spry step to his walk.

"What made you start - what was it? Crime-fighting in ski masks?"

There's a scowl that appears on her face before she can stop it. He catches it and smirks as if he's won a game she isn't privy to.

One flight of stairs done, he keeps climbing. She follows behind, hand gliding over the railing.

"I mean it," his voice echoes off the white concrete walls. "You could have hidden away, conceal don't feel and all that. What made you take the jump to part-time superhero?"

It does take her by surprise, recalling those first few months after her dad died. The depression, the anger, the self-destructive behavior. Her brother, smiling wide and glowing gold.

"Teenage rebellion?" She quips with an easy mask.

She can hear the smile in his voice as he walks up the last set of steps. "Hell yeah, stick it to the man," Then his voice gives a thoughtful waver, "The man being a metaphorical being and not me, preferably."

That makes her smile with a bit of an eye roll. It feels easy, familiar, this back and forth with him. The shadow of another person from her not too distant past. Tony opens the door with his back, watching her as he moves. His hand held out wide draws her attention to the room. He says something clever and witty, but she doesn't hear it as the surrounding space pulls her in.

Maybe it was the only part of the compound, other than his lab, that had been done yet. Maybe it was on purpose to have the main social area be completed above everything else. It wasn't her place to zoom in on though. It wasn't her team and therefore not her concern.

Instead, she takes in the grandeur of it all. A massive sitting area with red and grey couches. The biggest flat-screen TV she's ever seen outside of a movie theater. A kitchen tucked into the corner with a diagonal island, white and black and dark wood accents. And that's the only part she can see. Though she can peek some navy blue paneling on the opposite wall, floor-to-ceiling glass around a possible conference room? 

It screams Stark aesthetics. If she could picture what Tony Stark, billionaire superhero, would decorate his home with? It would be this. The modern luxury that was completely foreign to a log-cabin dweller such as herself. Even the Grand Hotel back on the island, for all its glory, was at least a century behind in its decor. This was rich living. This was far out of her grasp.

And when she looks back at him, he's just leaning against the ajar door with his arms crossed over his chest, a cocky smile in place that reeks of well-practiced magazine cover photoshoots.

"So, Luna Girl," he starts with an easy quip, "You gonna tell me about your dogs yet or what?"

* * *

Another round of static breaks the silence as Tony runs through his calculations for them, followed by a sudden clang of something metal in the background.

_“Shit! Looks like you guys have incoming. The handlers have a caravan an estimated five minutes out.”_

Clint shoots her an unreadable look, as though he’s studying her. It’s unnerving, to say the least. The imminent threat isn’t apparent in Tony’s words, so it must be SHIELD he’s referring to. But the way he describes them as  _handlers_  is also a bit troubling. She had watched the fall of the government agency with Jack - the exposure of an inner HYDRA cell. And then the Accords had happened not long after. Given the way her father had spoken of anything to do with the government hadn’t really instilled a strong sense of trust in her mind.

He’s still giving her a hard look when Tony’s voice breaks the tension.

_“Hey, Smith? You might want to skedaddle. These guys will be asking questions and calling you ma’am. It’ll be a circus and since you’re all about the private life, I recommend jumping now.”_

The archer huffs in thought, “They’ll be scanning the area.”

Realization slowly dawns, “If I go back to the island, they’ll know.”

Clint nods, eyes scanning the area as he avoids her gaze.

 _“So, come back to the lab. Their radius will be centralized on the Straits. Unless we give them a reason to look elsewhere.”_  When she doesn’t immediately reply, Tony adds on,  _“We need to configure some suits for you anyways.”_

Finding no alternative option, she agrees. A sense of building anxiety settling in her stomach as the reality of the situation hits her dead on. She’d already exposed herself to the largest group of superheroes in the world, the idea of a government agency like SHIELD also trailing behind them hadn’t even occurred to her through all the chaos of the past few days.

Clint pockets the comm, gives her an affirmative nod, “You were never here.”

Her returning nod is shakier than what she would like to present to him. With a final look around the tunnel and the silver carts, she vanishes in a flash of blinding white light, willing the dread in her mind to stay behind with them.

* * *

SHIELD appears with its usual overpowered sense of righteousness and supreme better-than-you attitude that comes with the job. It’s not the specific agents' faults - it just comes from the ashes of the old administration. They need to give off the appearance of stoic knowledge because people need to believe they’ve cleared out the HYDRA from their history. A rebirth, if you will.

They swamp the tunnels in record time. Having blocked off the bridge with a supposed high wind advisory as a cover for their black Sudans sudden appearances. Barton lounges next to him, having appeared from the darkened tunnel just minutes prior without their guide. Her lack of appearance made Bucky’s brows raise in question, but Clint had just shaken his head in a dismissive way that made Bucky keep his mouth shut. He knew better and had a pretty good idea of where she disappeared to.

26 greets them with her typical grimace. Blonde hair carefully smoothed down into a bun. Nighttime black tactical gear gleaming in the fluorescent lights and those long legs that were perfectly made to wrap around your head. She seems distinctly disinterested with the whole affair as her junior agents spread out, as if she had better things to spend her time on. The agent looks down at Clint who’s laying on his back, twirling an arrow between his fingers.

With a kick to his boot, he lurches forward with a gruff yelp. Bucky hides his amusement as 26 addresses them.

“Barton. Barnes.”

“Agent.”

She crosses her arms across her chest, fingers drumming along her opposite wrist with a frustrated beat. Staring at them both for a moment before speaking her mind, “You two are giving me trouble.”

Clint opens his mouth to argue, but she soldiers on with a pointed look and a raised eyebrow.

“More so, than usual.”

Dipping her hand into her pocket, she pulls out a sleek phone, scrolling through with an aggressive finger.

“First the docks in Mackinaw City - “

The archer quickly interjects, “Not me.”

She doesn’t even spare him a look over the screen, “Then St. Ignace. And  _then_  you made me draw my agents back up here tonight. Seems attention-seeking, if I was to hazard a guess.”

Bucky scrunches his hands together as he studies her. He’s only crossed paths with the woman once or twice before, but Barton seems friendly with her to an extent. She’s harder to read than most - rougher edges keeping seekers at bay. The truth is hidden behind well-groomed hair, sharp (but appropriate) makeup, black Kevlar, and stormy eyes. Intimidating describes her perfectly. Attractive, if he’s feeling bold (and he’s not).

Her eyes peer over her phone, focusing in on him with a scrutinizing stare.

“If you can’t properly handle a post-mission mess, then maybe you should be seeking deskwork options.”

Clint gives a huff before lounging back against the concrete platform, whistling as he twirls his arrow once again. Bucky sits up a little straighter as she moves her focus to him.

“Faulty breaks were to blame for the first docks. A gas explosion at the freighter. High wind for tonight. I have fourteen men down in Lansing being interrogated and four in critical condition. You’re keeping me busier than you should be, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t have a proper reply, just focuses his stare on her emerald green eyes and refuses to back down.

She breaks first, glancing down at her phone once again, “Not to mention the frenzy Stark caused on the island with his posts. Or Mr. Wilson’s mission by the Locks. Some would argue that if you don’t keep us in the loop, you may feel the pressure closing in. We’re not here to clean up your smoldering embers. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Her voice seems softer, her lips a little more gentle than the usual hard lines she presents. Before he can speak his opinion on the matter of SHIELD’s overreach, Clint groans.

“I  _think_  you need to get back out in the field. Sounds like deskwork has made you more of a hardass than usual.”

That warrants a small grin from her, but she’s quick to conceal it as a junior agent walks over.

“Ma’am, we did a scan and found an energy anomaly for the area.”

He hands over his device as she investigates the readings. Bucky tries to keep his expression neutral as he glances over at Clint, who falters slightly in his twirling. The immediate sense of worry that appears in his mind is something he can ponder on later.

* * *

“We really need to quit meeting like this,” Tony gives her a playful smile. “People are starting to talk.”

She feels the weight fall from her shoulders as she steps into the now-familiar lab. Her hood is pulled back, the black mask tugged down under her chin as the smell of metal and oil fills her senses.

“Not bad for a first mission, kid,” he offers as she rounds his workbench, plopping down on the stool he gestured to.

The lights are drawn low here, the pitch-black world beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows is more comforting than the night had felt at the top of the bridge.

“You’re up late,” she muses as the strain of exhaustion starts to coat her body - limbs feeling numb, head throbbing, eyes heavy.

The billionaire gives a small haunted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Comes with the territory.”

She nods slowly, drawn to the laptop he’s working off of. Different camera angles from the tower and the tunnel play on in black-and-white glory - the ones she had placed at his request. She can see the agents wandering around and she can’t help but wonder what the men she had gone down there with are currently doing. When she finally pulls her gaze away, she finds Tony staring at her.

“Might be a while till they clear out. Higher-ups are getting pissy about our, uh, unannounced presence in the area, to say the least.”

“So, they’re gonna be milling about for a while?”

“Probably, yeah.”

Her head feels fuzzy, heavy with the weight of the past few days of unexpected happenings. Not to mention the pure exhaustion that aches in her bones. She can’t even hide the yawn that bubbles up and escapes from her lips.

Tony smirks, closing the laptop with a  _click_  as his fingers drum on the counter.

“To keep them off your trail, you’re gonna have to stay low for a bit. No time-jumps or whatever you call it.”

Glancing down at her rather out of place clothes, the folded up bow and quiver on her back. Not a dollar in her pocket, she wonders how long it’ll take her to get back to Michigan if she heads out now. Weighing her options in her tired head.

“Funny thing is,” Tony pushes off from the workbench, circling around towards her, “We just got a few rooms done up today.”

She glances up as he pauses in front of her.

“Need a place to stay?”

Following him through the empty hallways, still showing signs of threadbare construction. She finds it kind of amazing that in less than sixteen hours, they had managed to finish as much as they had. On the same floor as the living area that she had visited earlier in the day, Tony guides her down an open hallway. The lights are low along the floor, giving off just enough light to guide the way. More large windows surround them, but it’s too dark outside to see the true landscape of the area.

Pausing in front of a closed beige door, a scanner appears from the wall.

Tony leans back, gesturing with his head towards it, “Go ahead.”

Hesitation grips her as she eyes the glowing blue light. Gulping her nerves down, she places her right hand over the scanner.

_“Authorization: Diane Smith.”_

She doesn’t even have time to process her shock as the door clicks and Tony pushes it open for her, flips on the light switch. The room is simple, bare and white. A bed is pushed against one wall, plain sheets adorn it.

As she takes it all in, Tony smirks, “A  _thank you_  wouldn’t be out of place.”

“Sorry, yeah. Thank you, Mr. Stark. I… I really appreciate this.”

He pushes off from the wall he had been leaning against, “Don’t mention it, kid. Place is yours for now. FRIDAY will let you know when you’ve got an all-clear to head back. Try and relax, get some sleep. Those bags under your eyes are something else, really.”

She quickly pulls a hand up to rub at her eyes with a hot wave of embarrassment. And then she pauses, “Sorry,  _Friday_?”

He nods while a feminine AI voice appears overhead,  _“How can I assist you, Miss Smith?”_

“Uh,” she stumbles. “I’m, I’m fine, thank you.”

Tony seems thoroughly amused as he watches her, “Got some basic sweats in the closet. We can figure out all that - “ he gestures at her clothes, “tomorrow, or whenever. Kitchen is barely stocked, so don’t expect a full continental breakfast in the morning, okay?”

With a numb nod, she carefully sits down on the edge of the bed. Feeling entirely out of place in the clean room.

“And if you got anything else, FRIDAY is always around. You good?”

The lines on her hands seem entirely interesting at the moment. She folds them tightly together on her lap as she steadies herself.

“Yes, thank you again, Mr. Stark. This is just… it’s a lot to take in, I guess.”

He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, “Yeah, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.” Moving towards the door, he gives a sudden pause. Turning back, his lips formed into a tightly-held frown, his eyes shiny something hopeful, “And kid? You did good, really.”

Warmth swells in her cheeks as a real celebrity and the superhero of the generation compliments her. She gives a shaky  _thanks_  in reply and then he’s gone. After a moment, she’s left alone with only her thoughts for company. Something she was strangely familiar with over these past six months.

Collapsing back on the bed with her arms spread wide, heavy with exhaustion. The fact that someone so iconic as Tony Stark was being so genuinely… kind to her? God, it was enough to make her vomit. A good feeling, yeah. Unusual as hell, yes. And not at all how she thought she would be spending her week. Let alone where she expected herself to be after returning from… well, it didn’t do to dwell on that too long. For her own sake.

As much as her body is ready to pass out, the uncomfortable nature of her clothes is far too bothersome to bear. So, a little regretfully, she sits up and makes her way over to the sliding door closet. Wherein she finds a row of black t-shirts and grey sweatpants, all of varying size. Selecting the best fit, she walks over to the open bathroom.

It’s small, but still modern in its decor. Seemingly moving in slow motion as the weight grows heavier in her mind, sleep demanding to take over as her eyes strain against the bright light, she maneuvers out of her clothes - leaving them in a pile by the shower.

Only when she had the soft fabric of the shirt pulled over her head, does she truly take in her appearance in the mirror. Tired eyes and disheveled hair. And then… then her eyes draw down to the small gray logo on the upper left part of her chest. The classic Avengers  _A_  symbol.

Lips part in surprise, breath a little harder to take in.

How funny is that? Her with  _that_? What would Jack think? What would her  _dad_  think? Not that that meant anything, of course. Straightening the shirt hem, her eyes flicker downward. But she can’t help it, that inkling in her mind. And soon she’s staring full-on at herself again. Could something so small and simple as a logo feel like a directional arrow? A calling or a symbol of a future?

Averting her gaze, she flips off the light and pads back into the bare bedroom. It’s something she can think about when her brain doesn’t feel like mush and she’s had at least two cups of coffee. For now, she turns off the main room’s light and pulls back the fresh linen of the bed. But now that she’s under the covers, sleep seems harder to chase than it should be. The blank ceiling stares back at her, white and empty. Like her thoughts. Too tired to focus, to recall the events of the night. She had been kept up by racing thoughts before - but to feel this? This numb? It’s an admittedly new experience and not one she cares for.

She waits, wills herself to let go and sleep. But it doesn't come. She tosses, turns, kicks her legs out, and curls them back in. Fluffs the pillow, drags a weary hand over her face. She wants to scream. To run, punch something,  _feel something_.

Collapsing back, she gazes at the void of white ceiling. Everything was too bare and clean. It didn't smell of a wood stove or slobbering dogs. The crickets and waves were nowhere to be found. 

Fitfully twisting and turning in the bed, clarity draws near as she realizes something rather strange with a startled gasp. 

For someone who had been shot at only an hour ago, she feels oddly exhilarated - not fearful. For what does she have to lose anymore? It was all… exciting, adventurous in the best and worst way possible. And she honestly can’t wait to go out and do it all over again. Having unlocked the secret that was plaguing her thoughts, her head seems to ease and her eyes flutter shut. And with the thrumming idea of new possibilities clouding her mind, she finally drifts off into a light sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions throughout the chapter:**  
>  **1.** I like to throw out little Easter eggs here and there for things. Not just related to Marvel or the mythology references, but Michigan stuff too. Agent 26 is aptly named as such because the state was the 26th to gain statehood in 1837. She's part of the Michigan branch of SHIELD headquartered in the state capital of Lansing.


	13. Part 013 | Progress by Noon

They have the small restaurant to themselves. A strangely decorated coffee shack by the lake, with massive murals along the interior and exterior walls. Large sweeping technicolor figures and bubble style words emblazoned on the bright blue paneling. Shelves of teapots and cookie jars, and thousands of polaroids adorning the walls and tables. Bucky traces his finger over the tabletop, staring down at a blurry photo of a man with a giant bowl of ice cream.

"You know," 26 starts. Sitting with perfect posture, staring casually over her red mug of coffee. "I don't actually mind cleaning up after your trail of disasters. All I'm saying is, the boss wants to be in the know when your team plans to make a move."

Bucky settles into the hardback yellow booth. Let's his hand drum against the table, "The opportunity presented itself and we took it. Leashes be damned."

She sets her mug down on the paper placemat, looking anything but thrilled.

"Is that your excuse for the merchant docks too? Surely that took more planning. Information dropped by a certain billionaire, perhaps?"

He swallows his rising frustration with a drink of water. He focuses on the wet ring forming on the mat from his glass.

"Remind me," Clint says with an exaggerated groan as he pulls the sunglasses from his face, rubbing the exhaustion away as he leans forward on the table. "When did we become your  _ property _ ?"

The sting doesn't phase the agent in the slightest. "Somewhere around the Accords? A public trial, a  _ time machine _ \- "

"Which was destroyed - "

"But still created and  _ used _ without any regulation or given intelligence to the government beforehand - "

Clint barks an agitated laugh, settling back against the booth next to Bucky, "Yeah, cause we would have gotten the go-ahead on  _ that _ . But hey, in case you didn't notice? It  _ worked _ ."

Dropping her elbows onto the table, she fixes the archer with a pointed stare, "I'm well aware of that, Clint. And I'm also aware of my position. Just because I work with them, doesn't mean I agree with everything. But, I'd rather be here than DC. So, you're stuck with me. Try and suck it up in the meantime."

Bucky watches the entire exchange with a quiet reserve. A previous tension between the two speaks of a shared past experience. It makes him even that much more curious in regards to where her loyalties fully lie.

"Look," she places her mug down and steels herself with a breath. "However you two knew about the operation is entirely irrelevant in my eyes. Just… how in the know were you about Nunez?"

An unfamiliar name has him looking over at Barton, who's staring at him with equal amounts of confusion.

26 settles back with a scoff, fixing her arms across her chest in disbelief. 

" _ Unbelievable _ . You weren't even looking for the bastard and yet you managed to uncover his main operation," she shakes her head with a broken smile.

Clint bristles, brows raised as he watches the agent. "Well, why don't you enlighten us then."

 

* * *

 

Sleep fades from her mind in a lazy sort of way as she curls into the warm sheets. The fog remains heavy and low as the world of dreams seems reluctant to leave. But it all comes to a striking halt as she stretches out and feels the full expanse of the bed she is laying on - one that is far too large to be her own. Sitting up suddenly, the memories of the previous night hit her like a slap to the face.

The room, with its plain neutral color scheme, slowly fills with gentle light.

_ "Good morning, Miss Smith,"  _ a feminine voice with an Irish lilt greets.

Several curses come to mind as she rubs the sleep from her eyes before dropping her hands to the white sheets in defeated fists.

"What time is it?" she asks after a moment, finding no clock in the room and feeling far too exhausted to search for her long-forgotten phone.

_ "It's currently a quarter after ten. Mr. Stark wanted me to inform you that he's left the compound, but will return sometime after two." _

"Okay, uhm, thank you," it comes out rather awkward, but considering it's a rarity to speak to a fully functioning AI, she takes it in stride.

When she finally emerges from the room, it thankfully doesn't take much mental recall to find the living area. After the events under the Mac, and sleeping for nearly seven hours, she's absolutely starving and brain functions seem to be running on low battery, much like her phone. Otherwise, she would be feeling the full expanse of her situation. 

What she wouldn't give to be home on her little island right about now. Instead, she's wandering through a place that's far more modern than what she's honestly comfortable with. Like walking through a highbrow art museum or trespassing in a celebrity's home, which isn't too far off base actually when she remembers whose money is generating the construction in the first place.

The hall is empty. Either the workers haven't started yet or they're in a deeper part of the building. 

The silence is eerie in the worst of ways. Feeling like a trespasser despite the obvious invitation from the night before. The world is quiet outside the large windows, the distant treeline is bare with the beginnings of winter.

But as she approaches the communal area, a sparkling of life is found. The first thing that catches her attention is the sound of a TV. And all sense of hunger abandons her mind as she slows her pace.

_ "... well after nearly six months of US troops serving at the Southern Border as a precautionary measure against the influx of refugees, Human Rights advocacy groups are making their appeal to Congress today." _

On the large flatscreen she had seen the previous day during the impromptu tour, a news anchor from MSNBC announces:  _ "The current Administration is claiming the numbers range in the thousands. Though analysts are arguing those numbers are barely in the hundreds. We're joined today by former DHS committee speaker, Mike Thalman." _

Images from the border play on in the middle of the screen as the guest joins the segment. 

She knew the current situation was becoming increasingly sour after the Blip caused wide-spread panic among already struggling countries. But it seemed the crisis was growing more urgent with the passing months. Coming to a standstill as the clips sear into her mind. The helplessness of the images. The fear and the worry.

_ "The probe into these accusations against our military is entirely unfounded, Hannah. You want a crisis? Look at our own country first. You go to any place in our nation, right now, and you will see images far worse than this. Families are in ruins and the government needs to be focusing on reestablishing an economy for the Fallen. After six months - six months, that's half a year spent, Hannah - we need to be helping our own citizens. Once that's done, then we can look outside our borders." _

The sound suddenly cuts out and another voice grabs her attention.

"Man, I hated that guy."

Turning at the intrusion, she finds a man leaning against the island with a mug of coffee and a remote in his hand. He gestures at the guest on the show with it.

"He was always an ass, but this thing has got him going to a whole new level." Taking a sip of his drink, "They're all power seekers at the end of the day. Some just grow blind to their original morals."

Eyeing the man on the news with a pointed stare, he draws his shoulders back and slowly makes his way around the kitchen towards her. She can't help but stare at the braces on his legs before forcing her eyes back up to his face.

He holds out a hand, "You must be the kid that's got Tony in a mood."

It takes a moment before she finally shakes his hand as his words settle in her mind, "I, uh - "

He smirks, "No, it's good. Haven't seen him this focused since the spider kid."

Dropping her hand, he makes his way back to the kitchen and she follows, albeit with a sense of trepidation. 

"Could be more useful and get his place stocked up though. Hope you weren't expecting anything gourmet for breakfast."

Eyeing the coffee pot and wire basket of apples, she opens the fridge and is met with two bottles of hazelnut creamer and a stick of butter.

"I see what you mean," she mutters. 

When she turns around a second mug has been placed on the counter. It's simple and white, but when she picks it up by the handle, she spots a barely noticeable logo. And then she watches him take a drink. Pausing when he catches her staring, he looks down at his mug when realization hits.

"Yeah," he says slowly, voice warm and husky. "You better believe he designed thermal mugs with his own damn design. Think he's aiming to make his own Bed Bath & Beyond now."

She lets a slow nod fall, feeling the nerves of an unfamiliar conversation in an equally unfamiliar location taking over.

When she gathers herself together, chancing a glance over at the man, she finds him already engrossed in a tablet. Scrolling through something she can't see with a blank expression resting upon his stern features.

With a flood of internal relief, she fills the mug with the remaining coffee. Watching with interest as the hot drink turns the mug black with a holographic Stark Industries logo gracing the front.

 

* * *

 

Swallowing the mouthful of pancakes before he takes the tablet from 26, his brows knit together as he scrolls through the first page of Eric Nunez's record. Clint seems less interested as he chews on his strip of bacon, giving the blonde agent an unblinking stare. She's staring right back, switching between her meal and her coffee. Bucky feels like he's intruding, so he digs his nose into the tablet to avoid the palpable tension.

After a moment, gliding over listed arrests, warrants, sightings, and some spectacularly grainy security camera photos, Bucky sets the tablet down next to his plate.

"You sure this is the guy?"

That has 26 finally pulling her attention away from the staring contest. Her brow raises ever so slightly in question.

Bucky feels the need to elaborate. 

"I mean," he sweeps his hand as the train of thought struggles to flow from his head to his lips. "This guy? You have him for trafficking and some basic black market work."

"Yes…" she says slowly, her eyes scrutinize him with a phantom burning sensation. She's like if Sharon had been trained by Natasha her whole life. And that realization just makes her that much more intimidating. 

He pauses, glancing back down at the tablet. An early mugshot of Nunez stares back at him.

"So, what I'm not finding a connection with is that tunnel." 

Bucky chances a glance towards Clint, trying to reassure that his mental path isn't performing the impossible. But the archer seems to have had his interest piqued, which is definitely a good sign. From there, he looks to the agent. Her plate is shoved to the end of the table, her fingers laced together on the paper placemat. Another tiny victory in his mind.

"I'm not sure what the going prices are at the moment, but I'd assume not enough profit was coming in to construct that on his own."

"He's working for someone," Clint surmises.

Bucky nods, catching 26's eye. She agrees with a short incline of the head.

Clint focuses on her while grabbing the tablet from across the table, "Any leads?"

Her voice is calm as the ocean, but a storm is brewing in her eyes, "A few." 

She settles back in her seat and Bucky can feel her foot graze against his shin as she crosses her legs under the table. 

"But nothing substantial." Tilting her head thoughtfully, she adds on, "We're working through the guards now, so if anyone has some information of last known locations…"

She lets the thought trail off, not needing to finish it for them.

Bucky nods in understanding. Finding his appetite gone, he pushes the half-eaten breakfast forward as he leans back against the booth. Until they have something to work with, they're next to useless here.

"Though," 26 seems nearly hesitant as she speaks, which is a rarity in itself. It has both men zooming in with near hyper-focus. 

A glance towards the open kitchen door and otherwise empty room, she leans forward just slightly on the table. Her voice drawn to a conspiratorial tone, "Wilson and Maximoff may be on the right track at the Locks. You won't see this in the record - "

Barton immediately closes the tablet and places it back down on the table.

" - But we have it on good authority that this might be a part of the Bernier organization."

Clint inhales sharply, "No shit."

She gives a grave nod.

The name takes a moment to settle in Bucky's mind as it speed reads through the thousands of criminal organizations he's encountered over the years. It takes a minute before the noise settles and he's able to pull the grainy memories out into the light.

An old gang, started in the forties if he remembers correctly, operating out of Ontario. Slowly transforming over the decades into something far more discerning. Something akin to the mafia, but less familial. 

"So," his voice breaks the silence. "He's falling somewhere low on the totem pole?"

"Essentially," she agrees. "I highly doubt he's been able to pull off all the stunts on his own."

"Someone's been pulling the strings."

26 inclines her head at Clint's statement, "Enough space to think he's in control, but not taking the hand off the leash, yes."

The archer gives a low whistle.

But Bucky knows, without something substantial to work with, they're next to useless. Even a crumb would be enough reason to have them shifting gears. But for now, they'll just have to wait.

26 glances between him and Clint. It makes him feel like he's intruding on the breakfast they were both brought to. He chooses to stare at the local ads on his placemat instead.

 

* * *

 

"So, I take the tank, fly it right up to the general's palace. Drop it at his feet and I'm like,  _ Boom! You looking for this? _ "

"Oh my god!" The laughter falls from her lips as tears threaten to spill. "That's - " she tries to catch her breath, "I,  _ wow _ . That is honestly insane."

He grins, taking another sip of coffee, "Glad someone thinks so. You try putting your stories up against a literal God and a couple of aliens."

"Please," she feels comfortable enough, after talking to Rhodes for almost an hour, to kick her feet up on the coffee table and relax into the grey couch cushions. "I feel like I'm at elementary level stuff and I just got dropped onto a college campus. You guys are basically the stuff of legends now. I just stop some wannabe criminals in the middle of nowhere Michigan."

He fixes her with a stare.

She remains acutely aware of where she falls in the pecking order of superheroes. She is  _ no one _ . That can be confidently said standing in the presence of War Machine in the compound being built by Iron Man. The people who were there saving the world from the largest invasion known to mankind. While she was stumbling back to consciousness in the medical center. 

Maybe… a long time ago, when there was someone by her side going through the same experiences, maybe that version of herself would stand a little taller. Tilt her chin up in the presence of someone larger than life. But now? God only knows where that girl disappeared to.

Probably the bottom of the lake along with her brother.

"Well," Rhodes drawls thoughtfully. "Way I see it is, it takes some kind of talent to catch Tony's eye. Must see something in you, right?"

That earns a nervous glance down to her folded hands, drawing her knees up to her chest, a protective shell to cage her remaining pride. 

When she speaks, it's muffled by her knees where she has her chin tucked into, "'m sure he's just bothered by me showing up on the docks that first night out."

He scoffs, " _ Right _ . That's why he was going on and on about uniform specs this morning. Hear he does that for all those under the radar mutants."

That gains her interest, raising her head level and her brows drawn, "Who says I'm a mutant?"

A shrug of the shoulders followed by a sip of coffee, "Eliminating the obvious? Not an alien, right?"

"Not that I know of," she bites, feeling the sting of old memories creeping up through the cracks. 

"Don't look Asgardian," Rhodes muses.

A bitter laugh on her lips, "Never did put much faith in the idea of higher beings."

"So," he settles his arms on his knees, dropping his head down as he moves in on the metaphorical target. "That leaves mutations."

"And yet I've been cleared by the Professor himself," bristling at the sour-tasting memories of the Institution, a last resort for a desperate father. She leans back against the couch cushions, draping her arm over her raised knees, "Don't have a sequence out of whack or a drop of foreign entities in my bloodstream. Even said it wasn't a dormant strain."

"Huh."

It seems to take him back, a lost expression on his face as he finishes his coffee. At a loss for words, they both sit in silence, dragged down by their own thoughts. 

 

* * *

 

The wind is bitter cold outside, cutting through the air like the edge of a knife's blade. Not to mention the lingering pelt of freezing rain. Bucky draws his arms close to his chest, hating the way his left shoulder aches with the inclement weather, as Clint scrolls through his phone on the covered patio of the restaurant. 

"So, take it you're sticking around?"

He squints through the storm, watching the streak of vehicles on the road. 26 had taken off only moments ago after a call from her junior agents took precedence.

"Probably," Bucky relents after a moment.

Clint nods distractedly, clearly lost in the messages on his phone.

Chancing a look in his direction, Bucky carefully treads, "You're not?"

The archer finally shoves the phone into an inner coat pocket, a scowl barely hidden on his features.

"You know, I didn't really sign up for this again. Don't get me wrong," he quickly adds. "I don't mind helping out here and there, but I'm not back on the team or whatever. I… I got a life outside this, man. Already lost it once..."

He doesn't need to finish the sentence for Bucky to understand completely. So, he just nods in acknowledgment.

When the designated ride from SHIELD arrives in the parking lot, Clint gives him a forlorn look before slapping Bucky on the right arm.

"You need help with this Bernier shit, just call, alright?"

Another nod and then Clint's disappearing into the passenger seat. The car screeches out of the lot and Bucky is left alone in the rain.

At least the motel isn't too far of a walk from the cafe.

Once inside the darkened room of his temporary residence, Bucky peels the soaking wet hoodie from his chilled body and drapes it over the lone chair. Boots are roughly kicked off, landing in a heap under the table. When his equally wet jeans are drawn down to the floor, he flops back on the rumpled bed.

The ceiling is done in the popcorn style, a faded white. The musk of the comforter is enough to distract him from the torrential downpour hitting the window pane. But not enough to keep the onslaught of his own thoughts at bay. After several minutes of laying there,

"Fuck."

Flipping onto his stomach, he reaches over the edge of the bed to rifle through his forgotten jeans. Bucky rubs the screen against his shirt to wipe off the lingering droplets of water before flipping it open. Rather reluctantly, he slowly types in a message and sends it. Closing the phone and tossing it onto the other bed before he can second guess himself.

_ Just got freed up. Need a hand? _

A melodic  _ ping _ has him opening his eyes to stare at the phone only a moment later. Hefting himself up, he leans across his bed to grab the flip phone from the vacant one. 

The response from Sam reads: _ Depends which hand you're sending _

_ Ha. Ha. Ha. _

 

* * *

 

"Oh, this is nice. Quaint really. I'm sure he's only been telling you about my many charitable acts and general humanity-saving moments, right?"

Tony strolls into the room just after one, sunglasses resting on the tip of his nose and a to-go coffee cup in his hand.

Rhodes tilts his head back thoughtfully, "We only got to your junior year, actually."

"Ah!" Tony grins, setting his cup down on the kitchen counter. "A good year, almost blew up the main lab. And hijacked the school servers for a few months. Got drunk off my - "

Rhodes gives him a silent but pointed look.

"Anyway!" Tony says loudly, shifting gears as he saunters over to the couch where neither of them has moved from the earlier makeshift breakfast.

"You didn't tell me you had an insider."

That garners her sudden attention, "I'm sorry?"

Tony gazes out the large windows for a moment before responding.

"Tried to cover for you, called your work as your deeply concerned  _ uncle _ . Family excuses always work, right? Well," he turns, eyes intent on her face for any sign of reaction.

"This woman played along for a moment before  _ informing  _ me that I better watch myself? That I need to keep my nose out of things and never imply that I  _ know you _ again. But, hey, she said she'd cover for you in the meantime?"

She can't help but say a silent prayer in thanks to Linda.

"So, who's the coverer?"

Straightening up as she feels two sets of eyes settle on her, her voice shakes ever so slightly, "A friend. Been there since the beginning almost. She knows me better than anyone. And she  _ knows _ that I don't have an uncle. Might need a more clever cover next time."

She realizes her slip-up immediately when Tony mouths  _ next time? _ with all the amused wonder he can manage. For some reason, he lets the moment pass without causing her too much embarrassment though. Because then he's holding out a thin tablet as he plops down next to her, drawing his right leg across his left. 

"Just some basic schematics," he elaborates with a wave of the hand.

Curiosity has her opening the screen. And  _ basic schematics _ was really putting it lightly as she stares at the numerous designs with astonishment. Words gurgle in her mouth as a broken  _ what _ manages to come out.

"Told you, your little costume is an accident waiting to happen. One misplaced candle and you become the Human Torch."

Her eyes narrow, "I don't think that's how that works - "

"My  _ point _ is - upgrades were much needed."

She lets her gaze drop back down to the tablet, flicking through image after image. Slight variations in the design, but still based off of her current combo.

Tony turns his attention back to the other man, his voice full of faux distraught, "Walking around in nylon-lycra like it was no big deal."

Rhodes tuts, "Just asking for trouble at that point."

"See? That's what I said. Melt her legs down to the bone and that cotton blend would just go up in flames."

Desperately, she tries to tune him out. Though he's very insistent, playful prodding to lure a reaction out from her. She resists.  

After a moment of browsing, she silently holds up the tablet. Tony nods side to side as if trying to accept the choice. Instead, he just remarks, "Colors are customizable too. Already have one archer walking around in black and purple."

"I'm sure he won't mind."

A slow grin pulls at Tony's features, "Alright then. We'll get to work."

 


End file.
